


Peeking behind the Curtain

by calrissian18



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (HE WAS A MAJOR CHARACTER IN MY HEART THOUGH), Asshat Harry, Auror Draco, Auror Harry, Auror Ron, Brief Charlie/Draco, Draco Malfoy & Ron Weasley Friendship, Injured Draco, Jealousy, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mutual Pining, Seer Draco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-31
Updated: 2013-05-31
Packaged: 2017-12-13 13:12:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/824682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calrissian18/pseuds/calrissian18
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco sees things he really, really wishes he didn't. If only to get out of all the homework that comes with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Peeking behind the Curtain

**Author's Note:**

> Written for hd_smoochfest. I really need to write more Seer!Draco, right?

 

"What did you see?"

The Fwooper feather floated down to hover above the counter. It rocked and slowed to an easy sway, the sides of it ruffling from Draco's breath. It was a small and young one, barely covering the pad of Draco's thumb. "The same thing. Chrysalis on fire." He pulled his gaze away and stared up at the wall of potions, the different-sized bottles making up a strange chorus line. "It's nonsense."

Professor Tibur gave an understanding hum as he eased into the seat across from Draco. "That's what the lessons are for."

Draco's expression soured. "No one ever mentions lessons when they bring up this whole prophetic lark."

A poorly suppressed smile met Draco's embittered gaze. "Now you know you should have kept quiet about those pesky visions."

Draco stabbed at the air underneath the feather and it jumped higher, a few of the ends getting singed. "I hate you," he muttered darkly.

"I'm well aware of that, Mr. Malfoy," Tibur said robustly, throwing out his broad chest with almost festive cheer. Draco thought he looked the consummate Norseman. He rubbed his fingernails on his robe's sleeve and winked. "And I don't even need the power of prophecy."

Draco rolled his eyes. He did that so often he thought his eyes might get stuck one of these days. "A right riot, you are." He tipped back an abandoned jar of armadillo scutes, the glare of the jar nearly as bright as the shine of his nails.

"Don't touch that," Tibur chastised, smacking his hand away.

Draco scowled and let the thing go, Tibur's sharp eyes watching him for any sign of clumsiness. "I don't want to be here," Draco announced, almost hoping to hurt Tibur's feelings with the declaration or at least get his way and be allowed to walk out for the day.

Tibur simply nodded jollily as though he'd expected nothing less. "Let me guess," he said cheerfully, "you'd rather be gallivanting about town, casting dangerous charms and having unprotected sex."

Draco snorted. "You are so hip to us youth these days," he drawled.

Tibur raised a bushy brow. He reminded Draco of that awful savage groundskeeper when he did because it made one of his eyes bulge slightly. And while Tibur was nowhere near the size of the half-giant, he was nowhere near the size of a regular man either. He looked like one of those Viking Gods: red hair, bushy beard, hairy forearms and just simply _huge_. "I doubt things have changed that much since my time," he said smugly.

"Your time of gallivanting about town, casting dangerous charms and having unprotected sex?" Draco wondered aloud.

"Well, I—" Tibur blushed and cleared his throat. Draco blinked at him stupidly. He'd _never_ seen him blush. He didn't think men that size _could_ blush. "That's none of your concern. We're not here to talk about _me_ , Mr. Malfoy, and you'd do well to remember that." He wagged his finger in a reprimanding fashion. The gesture looked absolutely ridiculous on him. He stood and eased an Arithmancy text off a shelf on the sidewall. He flipped through the pages before placing it, open, on the table in front of Draco. "Have you been keeping a log of your dreams as I asked?"

Draco leaned down and pulled out a journal, river blue in color. "I have," he said, passing it into Tibur's waiting hand. He'd written in frilly writing on the front, 'Dream Journal,' and drawn a stick figure unicorn that he'd Charmed to gallop and a rainbow set to sparkle. Just to prove how seriously he was taking the whole thing.

Tibur ignored the obvious attempts to goad him and flipped through, stopping at the third or fourth page. "Mr. Malfoy," Tibur sighed and rubbed a hand over his forehead, "this is a list of Bertie Bott's beans."

Draco nodded his agreement studiously. "I eat a different one every night. Sardines last night. I swear the taste was still in my mouth come morning."

Tibur snapped the book closed. "If you're going to treat this like a waste of time then that's exactly what it will prove to be."

Draco knocked the heel of his shoe into his stool's leg and glowered. "Forgive me for not jumping for joy over the prospect of more pointless hours locked inside a classroom." He threw up his hands. "I'm eighteen. I'm meant to have escaped all that by now."

Tibur didn't seem terribly impressed but he dug out his I'm-your-ally tone and said gently, "Perhaps if you actually paid attention this could be a quick and painless process?" Draco rolled his eyes. He really had to get out of that habit before he did serious damage. Tibur either didn't notice or was immune to it by now. "You might even get a bit out of it when all is said and done," he hazarded. Draco couldn't deny that there might be some truth to that and Tibur looked pleased with himself, as though he knew it too. He pushed an inkpot in Draco's direction unsubtly. Draco grudgingly picked up his quill and pulled the Arithmancy book closer. "The sage," Tibur said, teacher-voice hitched back to the forefront, "what is its purpose?"

Draco was busy with the maths now and he hedged, "It smells all right?" He didn't even bother to look up to see the face of Tibur's disappointment and Tibur didn't seem inclined to bully him, _again_ , about not doing the reading. He simply sighed, leaned over, and pointed out a miscalculation Draco had made. Draco scribbled it out with a huff and added, because the silence was beginning to chip away at his sense of calm, "Better than that bloody rubbish Trelawney always had going in her classroom."

Draco actually heard Tibur's teeth clack together. He looked murderous. "Perhaps because Sybill Trelawney is a quack," he forced out, his voice positively shaking.

Draco couldn't even begin to hide his surprise and his eyebrows jumped halfway up his forehead. "Oh, he bites."

"The only premonitions she ever had she stole," Tibur said coldly. He scrubbed at his dark red beard with a large hand as though to get himself back on topic. It was a moment before he spoke again and, when he did, it was to impart a lesson. Of course. "We've discussed how to protect against would-be Seers. And what would that protection consist of?"

Draco pointed the feathered end of his quill at Tibur. "Don't end sentences with a preposition."

"Don't stall," Tibur parried lazily.

_Well, so much for that, then_. This man was getting to know Draco far too well. "Um." Draco scrunched up his forehead. "It was a sigil of some sort, wasn't it?"

"Yes, it was," Tibur encouraged, looking pleased.

Draco squinched his mouth to one side. "The dove-looking one."

Tibur deflated. "None of them look like a dove." He spun on his stool and pulled a thick hardback off the counter behind him. He placed it on top of the Arithmancy book and Draco groaned.

He shoved the book back and tried again, hoping to avoid this punishment. "Right, I meant… griffin?"

"It's drawn under your bed in your _own_ bedroom," Tibur said exasperatedly.

"Oh yes, and I spend mounds of time _under my bed_ , don't I?"

Tibur looked up at the ceiling as if for patience or guidance and dragged one of his giant hands down his face. "So you're just flying through the reading then?" he said mordantly.

"Ouch. Your sarcasm, it stings," Draco said in a high-pitched voice. He stared distastefully at the crusty tome Tibur was now scooting back towards him. "You can push Arithmancy but Cryptomancy is a bridge too far."

"Cryptomancy provides a cypher. A cypher may very well keep you alive and healthy," Tibur explained as though he was speaking to a child, "One might think that's something you'd be interested in." Draco sneered at him and Tibur flicked him in the forearm. "Ow!" Tibur ignored him and Draco couldn't help but grin to himself. Tibur was still in his mid-thirties but he acted more like he'd escaped an old age home most days. Draco enjoyed anything that brought out his mentor's more immature side. He'd only managed to glimpse it once or twice since Tibur had set up shop in the manor and it happened so rarely that Draco sometimes thought he'd imagined it.

"You're a child," Draco told Tibur grandly, feeling rather pleased with himself.

Tibur didn't deign to acknowledge him and chose, instead, to continue on with his rant. "A Seer's lifespan is not tremendously long," he said, "and that is precisely _because_ they never learn to hone their gifts."

Draco balanced his quill's tip on his finger. "Right, so you and your Council mates now put us through forced education. I've heard the spiel so you can leave off."

"You've heard but listening appears to be a whole other battle," Tibur said, rubbing at his forehead again. Draco took great pride in how exasperating he could be. "I am trying to keep you alive," Tibur pointed out.

"I'm careful," Draco argued, which meant he didn't have to acknowledge the sentiment behind Tibur's last words. "No one even knows about the whole cheating the future business I've got simmering in my head."

"Nor should they," Tibur said stoutly. "Hengist only knows what might happen."

Draco was no longer fazed by Tibur calling on Norse wizards rather than medieval ones, though the first few months Draco had relentlessly tried to teach him the 'proper way' to go about these things. "I thought that's what the Council was for," Draco said with a shrug.

Tibur gritted his teeth and said as though this wasn't the first time he'd had to say it, "The Council is there for educational purposes only. We're not a bunch of vigilantes with wands – we can't protect you. Not firsthand."

Draco slumped into his seat. "Fat lot of good you are, then," he said with a dignified pout.

Tibur didn't look impressed. "If you _cared_ about your lessons," he said with suggestion in his tone, "they might actually count for something and the Council might actually prove to be an asset." Draco mumbled something purposefully unintelligible while still managing to sound dismissive. Tibur's jaw tightened. "Do you know what your problem is, Mr. Malfoy? You refuse to work at anything. You expect all of it to simply fall into your lap. You are the most spoilt little boy I've ever met."

Draco pursed his lips together, feeling… feeling… well, hurt. "If you're quite finished," he said icily.

Tibur cleared his throat. "The visions are always vague in the beginning," he was employing his teacher-voice again, "easy to misread and eager to mislead. No one likes you to 'cheat the future,' as you put it. It's not the proper order of things. If you learn to master them rather than let them master you then perhaps you'll make it past your twentieth birthday. And that would be a feat by itself."

Draco wasn't feeling very charitable, even if Tibur had only been trying to help, and he stared down at his quill, pretending Tibur wasn't even in the room.

"I would like you to live that long," Tibur said quietly.

"I've seen the statistics," Draco conceded.

Tibur leaned back in his seat with a sigh. "And I can see they've influenced you deeply."

Draco's hackles rose. "I didn't ask to be a freak of nature, all right? Forgive me if I'm not over the moon because I can't sleep and I get headaches so bad I spend the whole day vomiting my guts out."

Tibur's eyebrows formed a deep vee. He walked over to his shadowbox stores and pulled out a packet of leaves. "That's what the sage is for," he said, placing it in front of Draco, his finger digging into the bag as he pointed at it, "to combat the nausea."

Tibur was still wearing his concern like rouge and Draco bit the inside of his cheek, feeling childish about his outburst. "Listen, I'm sorry, all right? But you act like this is some grand gift." Draco pulled at his quill's feather and a chunk of it came off between his fingers. "I had my whole life stretched out in front of me. I had choices, and then I had my first vision and you lot showed up and it's been boot camp ever since."

"Foresight is a dodgy talent to possess. We only want to make you aware of the risks and teach you how best to defend yourself." Tibur's tone wasn't defensive but it was a close thing.

"So I can work better for you, right?" Draco guessed snottily. "A long healthy life keeps the stream of information going, doesn't it?"

Tibur stole Draco's new trademark expression and rolled his eyes. "We're not Ministry, we're not government of any kind. We're not here to use you. I know, as a Malfoy, you have difficulty with the concept but this is solely for your sake."

"It's having a shred of common sense, not being a Malfoy, that gives that more than a whiff of bullshit," Draco countered. "Though I suppose the Malfoy bit doesn't help," he admitted with a frown.

* * *

"How are your classes, glumbumble?"

Draco looked up at his father, brightening at the moniker – which was no doubt the purpose of employing it – and shrugged. "They're fine. Informative." He stabbed into his roasted pheasant. "Not at all dull as rocks."

His mother straightened up and, looking over Draco's shoulder, said in her politest socialite tone, "Ah, Virgil, won't you join us? We were just discussing Draco's further education."

Draco turned around to find Tibur walking through the hall. He poked his auburn head through the door and Lucius nodded him in. Tibur took the seat next to Draco and ruffled his hair while Draco scowled up at him. "If I remember correctly," he said happily, "one has to actually do the work if they expect to get educated."

Both his parent's features darkened. Draco's brow furrowed and he muttered waspishly, "Thanks a lot."

* * *

Tibur had a shit-eating grin on his face when Draco entered the potions lab the next day. "Did you do the reading?" he asked smugly.

Draco glowered at the reminder of his mother standing over his shoulder making sure he did just that. "Yes, O Masterful One," he said with extreme sarcasm.

Tibur rolled his eyes. "Have I mentioned recently how much I despise that honorific?"

"Not for a few hours at least," Draco quipped. He pulled out the book in question: _A Seer's Guide to Dreams and Omens_. "What did it mean," he asked, "– _in times of interregnum, a Seer's ability becomes equivocal_?" Yes, _that_ was the kind of writing he'd had to trudge through four chapters of the night before. "Shouldn't upset mean an increase in clarity?"

"Visions rely on a certain algorithm," Tibur explained. "The more stable the algorithm, the more accurate. That's where Arithmancy comes in to play. The more things stray away from states of normalcy, or the more variables included, the harder it becomes to predict."

Draco stared at Tibur in disbelief. "So I can only predict things that are predictable? Circe, this just gets lamer and lamer."

Tibur coughed and Draco suspected it was to conceal a laugh. He cleared his throat. "Your mother tells me you enjoy Arithmancy. At least that works to your favor here."

"My mother talks too much," Draco said sourly. "And I did like Arithmancy, at least until it started telling me that the flowered teacup in my vision is a statistical improbability. Maths and prophecy are simply a poor mix, like dragon scales and doxy eggs."

"They inform one another," said Tibur rather exasperatedly. Draco had had this tantrum before. "You just need to work at it. Those without gifts such as yours have been looking into the future with those maths for centuries."

"Well let them have at it, then." Draco wrinkled his nose. "Why should I have to slave over it only to have the answer come up wrong time and again? I'm clearly not very good at it. I'll leave it to the professionals then, shall I?"

"I hate to say it, Mr. Malfoy – and truly I do," Tibur affected a cringe, "but you _are_ the professional in this case. Despite their credentials, you will always outstrip them when it comes to predicting the future." He gave Draco a stern look. "You have a chance to change things here."

"And what if that's how they're meant to be?" Draco said contrarily, solely because he was feeling exceptionally difficult today. No doubt it had to do with Tibur siccing his mother on him the night before. "Future-telling seems like a lot of hubris and idiotic blundering in. More suited to Potter and his ilk. I'm more the watch and see where things fall type of bloke."

Tibur grinned, showing off a mouth full of remarkably large teeth. "A coward, one might call it if they're short on time?"

Draco snorted despite himself. "It's not cowardice. It's practicality." He shrugged. "One man's cowardice is another man's careful assessment."

Tibur's brows furrowed. "Your excuses are rather pathetic today."

"They are, aren't they?" Draco agreed with a frown. "Sleep was not a friend last night."

Tibur's expression mirrored his own, with concern in the vee of his forehead. "Visions?" he asked tightly.

Draco shook his head. "Nothing so fancy as all that. Just plain old insomnia, sorry to disappoint."

Tibur gave a calm nod and moved over to the potion stores, saying over his shoulder, "I can give you some hellebore root for that."

* * *

When Draco came to, his mother was helping him off the floor with cool and careful hands. She and his father helped him onto his bed while the vision rolled through him in waves, panic searing his chest and sharp breaths burning his nostrils in the cold. He needed his journal so he could write the whole of it down before any of the details faded.

He had serious doubts over whether or not he'd be able to hold the quill, though. His limbs felt like Flobberworms.

His mother pressed something cool to his forehead and he wanted to slap her away, to say that he was freezing even as he felt the sweat slide down his face and the small of his back. Lucius stood behind her, a little out of focus with his mouth pursed tight. Draco still felt like he was running.

Tibur burst into his room, breathing hard. "What's happened?" he demanded in a rough voice that reverberated off the walls. All three Malfoys looked up at him but none answered. Tibur stormed over to the free side of Draco's bed and sat down by his hip. "Draco?" he said with more care than Draco would have thought him capable of.

Draco's breaths still twisted through him, shredding up his lungs. He suspected it was going to be quite some time before he no longer felt like he was being chased. "I saw something," he said and he was amazed by how hoarse his voice sounded. He coughed. "Properly."

Narcissa handed him a glass of water and Draco sipped it gratefully. It was too cold and it burned in his chest, making him splutter.

Tibur smoothed a large hand over Draco's forehead. "What did you see?" he asked softly.

Draco tried to pull for it but the picture was starting to splinter. "It's fading," said Draco with his face scrunched up in frustration.

"Tell me what you remember," Tibur encouraged, not sounding at all chastising, as Draco had expected.

"It was a man, running through the woods." Draco rubbed at his forehead. It was soaked with cold sweat. "He stopped against a tree. He was so bloody terrified." Draco had to consistently modify the 'I' in his head to 'he.' "He was breathing like an Erumpent in heat. He'd stopped feeling his fingers and toes ages back but he couldn't stop. His robes were in tatters from being whipped by branches and I think he might've lost a shoe. I couldn't see what was chasing him but, whatever it was, it was _quick_."

"Did you recognize him or the forest?" Tibur asked urgently.

Draco shook his head, struggling to sit up while his mother's frown twitched in response. "No, but he had a—a symbol tattooed on his collarbone," he said, touching his own. "It looked almost like a map, like a star chart."

Tibur glanced at the quill and pad of paper on Draco's bedside table. He looked back at Draco and decided after a moment's contemplation, "You should rest."

He stood and Draco said, "You called me Draco."

Tibur smiled grimly. "Don't let it go to your head, Mr. Malfoy."

* * *

"You've worked out the equation then?" Tibur asked when Draco finally looked up.

Draco scratched at his forehead with his quill, leaving a blue line just above his left eyebrow. He flipped his notebook around for Tibur to look at. "According to the numbers, it should occur six hours from now but I, uh, had to fudge a few details." Tibur scowled at him and Draco crowed defensively, "What? I kept getting imaginary numbers using the proper information."

"And you _liked_ Arithmancy, even being so rubbish at it?"

Draco flicked a newt eye at him.

Tibur held up the notebook as a shield, peeked his head out and stuck out his tongue. "Uncalled for, Mr. Malfoy." Draco grinned at him while Tibur looked over his calculations. He'd actually done them right for once.

In the end, it didn't much matter. The man's name was Gideon Faber and he was chased to his death by a werewolf precisely seven and a half hours from the time Draco performed the Arithmancy. The star chart on his collarbone had turned out to be the broken up Runic symbols used by the group _Lupinus Libertas_ – an organization that was devoted to countering the mounds of misinformation out there about werewolves, as well as providing factual information for anyone who sought it.

His insides were torn apart and eaten.

Draco didn't feel very much like celebrating how close he had gotten with his Arithmancy.

* * *

Draco went to the library that night to return his utterly useless book on _The Significance of Aqueous Symbols in Prophecy_. That was the last time he dreamt about a bloody canoe. "There's my favorite towhead," boomed out behind him.

Draco spun on his heel, wand at the ready, to find Tibur struggling upright on one of the reading couches. There was a more than half-empty bottle of that awful Akevitt he insisted on drinking at the foot of the sofa. And Draco would bet this wasn't the first bottle he'd tangled with tonight.

"You're blotto," Draco said slowly. He had no doubt that it was Mr. Faber's fate that had led him to it. Draco certainly felt like drowning his sorrows.

"Don't be rude, Mr. Malfoy." Tibur's voice was boisterous and he seemed to have suppressed a belch as he spoke. An absolute prince, he was.

"Don't be stuffy, Mr. Tibur," Draco retorted as he walked over to him cautiously.

Tibur frowned and rubbed at his forehead. He winced. "I am a bit stuffy, aren't I?"

Draco pushed his legs off the end of the couch and sat down. "Just a tad," he said politely.

Tibur sat up and he lurched towards Draco in ungainly fashion. "I didn't used to be, you know?" he said, his eyes unfocused. "I used to be fun and lively and all the girls were after me, once upon a time."

Draco smiled. "When you were gallivanting about town, casting dangerous charms and having unprotected sex?"

"Precisely," said Tibur with a studious nod.

"And what happened to that fun and lively bloke?"

Tibur sighed and dropped his head into his hands. "My father took me aside when _I_ turned eighteen and he said I was to join the Council, as he had done before me and his father before him." Tibur snorted and shot a sideways glance at Draco. "I was convinced I was meant to be the fifth member of the Lazing Lethifold."

Draco laughed outright. "Salazar, you're ancient."

"Hush up, you," Tibur said with a scowl, poking him in his side. "I didn't realize my future had been decided for me." He leaned back against the couch and stared up at the ceiling. "I know what it's like to have all those other paths sealed off in favor of some crap destiny," he said earnestly. He rolled his head to the side to look at Draco. They stared at each other for a long moment and Tibur said quietly, "Only since I've met you have I started to think maybe this was the right move after all."

Draco's eyes burned stupidly and he looked away. He wanted to say 'even though I didn't stop it, even though I don't try as hard as I should, even though I sometimes make your life that much more difficult?' But he didn't. Instead he demanded almost angrily, as though he had some right to the information, "Why don't you have kids of your own?"

Tibur let out an explosive breath. He was staring at the ceiling again. "Never met the right woman, I suppose. Or, well, I did, but she was sick," he corrected. "Compromised immune system from malaria. Had ague for a while after and the Ministry then was being funny about the trade of ashwinder eggs. By the time the hospital got their hands on some the damage was done. She got every Muggle and Magical disease out there. Finally died from the Vanishing sickness."

Draco frowned. "I'm sorry."

Tibur shook his head. "It was a long time ago. She's buried proper-like," he pointed a finger at his temple, "up here, too."

"I'm sorry because you would have made a really grand father," Draco clarified softly. He waited until Tibur fell asleep, grabbed the softest blanket from his bedroom and arranged it over the man as best he could. He was not his mother when it came to that skill but he didn't think he'd mangled it too horribly. He sat in the chair opposite and watched the reassuring rise and fall of Tibur's chest as he breathed deep.

He'd wake with an awful crick in his neck the next morning but it was well worth it.

* * *

Draco's dreams that night all focused around the same event. It didn't matter where he was or what was happening or how dire it felt that the dream continue. There always came a moment where his world would fall away into blackness and a hand would sweep under his and hold fingers against fingers for all of a moment before the hand was gone and his proper dream was back.

Draco didn't like the light and unbalanced feel that swept under his ribs and up his throat like he was standing on a precipice. It made him want to pop up on his tiptoes to keep up with its path. Perhaps Draco wouldn't have minded so much if it weren't very clearly a man's hand that was making him feel such things.

* * *

"Everything's so _decided_ , isn't it?" Draco burst out.

Tibur paused in his monologue about how to sharpen Draco's comprehension of his visions using Bicorn horns and Jobberknoll feathers with a heavy frown. "Doesn't this aptitude of yours prove the exact opposite, Mr. Malfoy?" he asked cautiously.

Draco stabbed into the Pogrebin spleen. "Even when I have visions about things, I rarely have enough information to change anything. That man still got killed by that werewolf," he brandished his knife in Tibur's direction, "Addy still broke mother's china plate – it doesn't change anything, it just makes me feel like rubbish because I didn't figure it out sooner." Draco diced the thing like it'd killed his best friend.

Tibur's large hand covered his. "What did you see? What's got you so worked up?"

"It's private," Draco muttered snappishly, shaking Tibur off and scraping the entrails into his cauldron.

Tibur's brows jumped up. "You saw something concerning your _own_ future?" he said with intrigue.

Draco's mouth pinched tight while his cauldron spit and bubbled. "That is _not_ my future."

"Draco, darling." Draco looked up to find his mother standing in the doorway. Her hair was pulled up loosely and her skin was aglow. "You have a visitor."

Draco wiped his fingers on a hand towel. "I'm in the middle of something, Mummy," he said with a pointed look at the cauldron, whose contents were rapidly turning from yellow to seafoam green.

"It shouldn't take long," she assured and Draco gave into her, as she'd known he would.

He started up the stairs and Tibur warned, "It had better not take long. We were in the middle of something, Mr. Malfoy, and I mean to get back to it."

Draco brought his thumb and fingers together to form a circle and held it up in front of his forehead – _dickhead_. Childish perhaps, but well deserved. Tibur all but guffawed and threw balled up scrap paper at him as he slipped out of the potions lab. Draco was still grinning when he opened the door. Seeing what was on the other side nearly made him swallow his tongue. "Potter?"

Potter looked more than a little uncomfortable to be standing on his doorstep. His hands were in the pockets of his coat and he pulled it closer to his sides. "Malfoy," he greeted, biting his lip. He wasn't quite meeting Draco's eyes.

"I, what are you—" Potter tugged one hand out of his pocket and Draco was distracted completely. "Is that my wand?" he asked sharply.

Potter shrugged. "I thought I should return it to you." He held it out between them, palm flat. "Er, are you going to take it or not?"

Draco was still trying to formulate a response to that, his mouth yo-yoing stupidly, when a voice boomed behind him, "Exactly how long does it take to open a door?" Tibur stopped as he realized the guest in question was still about. "Oh, hello," he said amiably before turning back to Draco, looking more than a bit lost. "Draco, are you done here?"

Apparently Draco had been standing there far longer than he'd thought. Draco started. "What? Yes, I was just—"

Potter's look of blank disbelief quickly smoothed into distaste. He scowled darkly up at Tibur and shoved the wand towards Draco. "Here, Malfoy," he said tightly as Draco finally managed to reach for it. As the wand passed between them, their fingers met and Potter's brushed under his for only a moment. A scorching feeling swept out from under Draco's ribs and punched its way up his throat. His wand clattered to the ground and he jerked back with a quiet, "No."

Potter hunched his shoulders and sneered as he looked from the fallen wand to Draco's face. "Good to see I'm still not _pure_ enough for you precious Malfoys, then." He shoved his hand back into his pocket and spun on his heel.

Tibur picked up the wand and led Draco back inside, closing the door behind them. He shook Draco's shoulders a little. "Draco, are you all right?"

All Draco could do was shake his head that no, he was not all right.

* * *

Draco hadn't been very talkative since Potter, and Tibur was growing increasingly stymied as to what his issues might be. Teenagers were simply infuriating and his fondness for the boy was beginning to prove a weakness rather than an asset. He had begged off their lessons in an effort to take some of the burden off Draco's shoulders, very unwisely. It was wildly unsafe, as the longer Draco worked at interpreting his visions, the clearer they would become until it would be almost like watching present day unfold. Not to mention, he'd be able to perform the Arithmancy in his head – he was certainly clever enough for it. But Draco needed the push to get there. And Tibur had, once upon a time, been more than willing to give him that. Now he suspected that if he pushed Draco to where he needed to be it might make the boy hate him.

There was very little that was worth that.

If the Council ever found out how lenient he was being with his charge, he'd be fired or reassigned before he could even say I told you so and Draco would have a whole new Professor in his midst. One who would probably keep him alive far better than Tibur could.

Tibur set a cup of tea within easy reach of Draco's hand and took the seat across from him in the dining room. "I saw the pamphlets your mother's set out," he said unassumingly. He wrinkled his nose. "You don't really expect to go into anything having to do with topiary, do you?"

Draco chuckled, his fingers resting on the sides of his cup. "She and my father are trying to play the supportive parents for their freak son, meaning even the fantastical world of topiary isn't off limits to the Malfoy heir."

Tibur took a sip of his own tea. It was still steaming. "And what do you want to do with your future?"

"I figured I'd just wait to get a vision of it," Draco said mordantly. At Tibur's stern, and unamused, look, he sighed. "I don't know. I'm kind of wondering if I'll have one now."

Tibur didn't like that answer one bit. "The training isn't forever. Though I know that undoubtedly saddens you greatly, not getting to see me day in and day out." Draco smiled at that. "You can have a life of your own, Draco."

Draco slumped back into his chair. "What's the point? It's all decided for me."

"The future is always changing, you know that better than anyone."

Draco shook his head. "Not the big things. The big things stay the same and the rest is just details."

Tibur reached across the table and squeezed Draco's hand with his own. "Sometimes the details are the most important part."

* * *

Tibur waited a few more days to bring it up again. He gave an unsubtle glance at the pamphlets still spread out over the desk in Draco's bedroom. He tapped his finger against his biscuit. It made crumbs fall onto the front of his robes. Draco didn't tell him that. "The Auror one looks well thumbed through," he said finally.

Draco colored a little and admitted, "It's madness."

"Is it?" Tibur said, sounding genuinely surprised. He shared a look with Lucius who was also taking tea with them. He'd been in Lichtenstein settling the Malfoy accounts and he was feeling a bit deprived of his son's company. Tibur blew on his tea. "I think it's perfect for you."

Draco couldn't pretend he wasn't surprised. "Yeah?" he blurted. Rather unrefined in that delivery, he was.

Tibur nodded, his light brown eyes burning with something indefinable. "You're a warrior, Draco. It makes sense you'd want something with a bit of fight in it."

Lucius tilted his head somewhat agreeably. He chewed on a biscuit and waited until he swallowed to point out, "I did think you wanted to be a dragon slayer though."

Draco blushed while Tibur laughed out loud. "I was _seven_ ," he said forcefully.

"Regardless," Lucius countered pointedly, "I've always pictured it for your future." He smiled and told Draco in undeniable support, "I suppose this is as close as reality gets."

* * *

So, at the tender age of nineteen, Draco applied to be an Auror, and he was accepted into the training program that started in the fall. It was an intensive curriculum that his Seer training had actually helped to prepare him for, thank Merlin. It wasn't so much _what_ he was being taught as the fact that he had never had a chance to fall out of the student mindset. The downside to his new and whirlwind career-in-the-making was that his and Tibur's lessons had fallen to the wayside.

"You know Auror training is just as much of a pain as Seer training is," he whinged, slamming his book down on the counter in the potions lab.

Tibur shot him a quelling look as he stripped the leafy bits from some plant for a potion he was working on. Draco didn't recognize it and their paths hardly overlapped in any academic fashion anymore. "I'm not surprised," Tibur said smartly. He didn't meet Draco's eyes as he added, "At least you're nearly finished with the latter."

Draco had nearly forgot that Tibur's lessons were only meant to last out a year. It already felt like he'd been living in the manor for decades. "There is that, I suppose," Draco agreed. He picked at a loose string from one of his book's bindings. "Where will you go, after?"

Tibur looked thoughtful. "Brussels?"

"What's in Brussels?"

Tibur winked at him. "I don't know yet."

"No one's going to want that room once you've finished with it," Draco decided, airing that rather pompously. Tibur frowned. "It'll smell of lutefisk and Akevitt for all eternity."

"There is nothing wrong with either," Tibur defended stoutly, frowning through his confusion at what Draco was trying to get at.

Draco cleared his throat and furrowed his brow, choosing to look at Tibur's stirring rod rather than his face. "I'm saying it's yours. Whether you're in it or not."

* * *

By the time Draco finished his Auror training, Tibur was meant to be two months gone. No one commented on the fact that he wasn't. And that was just the way Draco wanted it. If attention was drawn to it, Tibur would get embarrassed and clear out and then Draco would get embarrassed, have to track him down and come up with some cool way to tell Tibur he'd rather he stayed without that sounding like what he was saying. It would all be very confusing and complicated.

Thankfully it hadn't come to that, which was a relief, as Draco wasn't feeling clever enough for the confrontation. Auror training had stolen all his smarts and Draco suspected he wouldn't have those back for a while.

Things were all lining up the way they were meant to until Head Auror Shacklebolt was reading off the partner assignments and he called out, "Potter and Bones." Potter and his red-haired ogre shared a look of utter desolation and Draco noticed a ripple run through the room as everyone stood up a bit straighter. Absolutely _everyone_ expected it would be Potter and his Weasel until they ran each other into the ground. Three pairs later and Shacklebolt was saying, "Malfoy and Weasley."

Draco's stomach turned over and he felt more than a little sick.

"No, no bloody way!" Weasley burst out. He'd barely made it through the rest of the partner assignments before he followed Shacklebolt out of the room and started harassing him down the hallway. "How do I know the little sneak won't turn around and hex me as soon as my back is turned? This is not on, Kingsley!"

Draco trotted alongside them, too stunned to even take offense. Shacklebolt escorted them into his office hurriedly. Draco dropped into the furthest seat, still feeling a bit like he was moving on autopilot.

"Auror Weasley, take a seat," Shacklebolt said forcefully, gesturing to the unoccupied chair.

"I don't need a seat," Weasley ground out. His nostrils were flaring like an angry Nundu. Draco thought it best not to mention that in case Weasley had also inherited a few of the abilities along with the looks. "I need a different assignment!"

"I'm sorry, _Auror_ Weasley," Shacklebolt said pointedly, "but you two are the best match we've had in the department in over a decade. You complement one another in every category."

Weasley gaped dumbly before falling back on fan favorite: "He's a Death Eater!"

Shacklebolt crossed his arms on his desk and he seemed to be holding on to his professional composure by a thread. "Do you have anything to add, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco sat up straighter. "Nothing, sir," he said. One of them had to act like an adult. Draco was a bit miffed that Weasley had backed him into that corner. He liked an immature rant as much as the next bloke. "Only it doesn't seem I can do my job when my partner objects to my simple presence so strenuously."

Weasley snorted and his eyes were flashing fire. "As if you don't object to mine."

Draco continued to address Shacklebolt, refusing to be pulled into Weasley's outrage. "I'll admit that Auror Weasley was not my first choice but I'm willing to act like a professional if he is."

Weasley slammed his fist down on Shacklebolt's desk and leaned over so as not to include Draco in his next statement. "Fine, label me bloody 'unprofessional' if you like but I am not partnering with the likes of _him_."

Shacklebolt rubbed at his temples and snapped, "Auror Weasley, perhaps you should take that seat now." It was not a suggestion, no matter how Shacklebolt had phrased it.

Weasley threw himself down in the seat like a five-year-old caught in a tantrum. "What is it?" he growled, tacking on a muttered, "Sir," at Shacklebolt's glare.

Shacklebolt waved a hand in Draco's direction, an invitation to proceed. They had already discussed what would have to happen when he was partnered and Draco sighed. He turned to look at Weasley. Weasley steadfastly refused to look back at him. Draco took a deep breath. "I have visions. Prophetic sight, if you like."

Weasley grinned like Draco had told a grand joke. He sneered and said, still without looking at him, " _You're_ a Seer?"

Draco offered a wriggling smile. "That or I have surprisingly accurate delusions."

Weasley bit the inside of his cheek and huffed. "What's this got to do with me?" he addressed Shacklebolt.

Draco shared a look with the Head Auror and Shacklebolt nodded. Draco answered, "You may have excellent instincts or great gut feelings but you will have to defer to me should I overrule you."

Weasley ground his teeth and Draco could actually hear the squeak they made as they rubbed together. It made him cringe. Weasley pursed his lips and bit out a muffled, "Fine." He made to stand furiously when Shacklebolt called him back.

"It should go without saying, Auror Weasley, that Auror Malfoy's condition is not well known. We should like to keep it that way."

Weasley barely paused long enough to give a sharp nod before he was out the door. Well. That certainly made Draco feel safe as houses.

* * *

"What's got you so worked up?" Tibur asked after Draco had broken the relish jar a second time. He cast an angry _Reparo_ on it again and continued struggling with the lid. Even when it shattered, the cap stayed on. Tibur reached across the kitchen counter for it and popped the lid off as though it hadn't been screwed on at all.

"I got my partner assignment today," Draco said, huffing hair out of his face as Tibur handed the jar back. He slathered the pickle relish on top of the slaw.

"I'm assuming you aren't too happy with who you've got paired up with," Tibur guessed.

"No, I'm not," Draco confirmed, his mouth tight. He sprinkled banana peppers on his sandwich and sliced it in half. He plucked up the left side of it, the coleslaw nearly falling out the bottom.

"And yet you didn't see this coming," Tibur said with his deep laugh as he snatched the other half of the sandwich from in front of Draco. Draco glowered at him. They had found out early on that they – strangely – had the same taste in food. Draco even enjoyed all the Norwegian oddities Tibur was always pushing on him as 'a taste of his homeland.' "What kind of Seer _are_ you?" Tibur tsked.

Draco shoved his shoulder into Tibur's chest as he moved to grab up Draco's pumpkin juice as well. The man was a bloody pest. "Bugger off," he said frostily.

Tibur was still chewing on Draco's dinner while he stood next to him and leaned on the counter. "So who is it and why is he or she so terrible?"

"It's Ronald Weasley, who hates me – with good reason – and whom I hate – with good reason," Draco said, stabbing at the air with his knife as he slathered another bit of bread with coleslaw so he could have a _full_ sandwich. He set the knife down and asked seriously, "How the hell am I meant to trust him to watch my back when he'd like nothing more than to see it riddled with curses?"

* * *

Working with Weasley was the greatest torture ever devised. Even if Draco offered good advice, or even a common sense observation, Weasley would ignore it in favor of doing the exact opposite – simply because Draco had been the one to say it. It often led to them losing the suspect, one or both of them incurring minor scrapes and bruises, or Weasley getting his eyebrows singed off – the last of which left Draco with a great sense of moral victory.

Shacklebolt was beginning to develop a facial twitch whenever either of their names were mentioned in conversation. Still, he refused to relent on their partnering, insisting if they could only be adults about it they'd be the best Auror team in the department. Draco almost admired his stick-to-itiveness. But even more he wanted to stab him in the eye with his big, fancy Head Auror quill.

"He's infuriating," Draco said archly. His newest case file was open in front of him but he couldn't see it properly. Probably because he'd kicked his feet up on the table and he was now resting his heels over a large percentage of the papers.

Tibur gave his boots a disdainful look but went back to his potion without commenting. "And I'm sure you're doing nothing to antagonize him," he said balefully.

"Me?" Draco affected an outraged gasp. "I would never!"

Tibur rolled his eyes.

* * *

Hermione Granger was smart. It was terribly obnoxious. It went against everything Draco was taught to believe Mudbloods capable of. She was a walking contradiction and Draco wanted, more than anything, for her to just stop being about and proving all his parents' pureblood nonsense wrong. And, as if that wasn't bad enough, she had to go and do the lowest thing out there. She had to show this grand capacity to forgive.

Was there nothing these Mudbloods weren't able to do?

Draco had been at the Leaky, feeling morose about his stupid partner and his stupid lot and who should walk in but the man who would no doubt cause his grizzly demise, his frizzy honey, and Potter. Draco withdrew further into his booth and fastidiously avoided eye contact with Potter. This was made easier by the fact that Potter hadn't attempted to look at him once. He tried not to care about their raucous laughter and general happiness. He had happiness. Somewhere. They were all idiots. Why shouldn't idiots be happy? They didn't know well enough not to be. He was better off miserable and well-informed.

Then Granger had come over and sat by him and said she was sorry for Weasley's behavior and that, though she doubted his was much better, that wasn't any excuse. She talked to him. Like he was a person. It was odd. So he talked to her like she was a person, too and – inferior blood aside – she mostly was. She'd had ulterior motives, naturally. She wanted into the Malfoy library. Apparently she worked in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures at the Ministry and she needed information on the clauses included in the werewolf legislation between the years of 1863 and 1867.

Draco was sure they had a book like that somewhere. He didn't ask if she was defending the thing that had killed Gideon Faber. He didn't like to think about that man. Though it seemed that man liked to think about him. He shook himself. He told her he'd get back to her within a day or two but Granger waved him off as though he'd misunderstood. She insisted that she come over the next night to look for herself. Draco's jaw dropped.

For the first time, he thought she might belong in Gryffindor.

"It's just through there," Draco said when she arrived at the manor, gesturing her through the sitting room.

She said something polite about his invitation but Draco wasn't listening, he was mostly looking for signs that a nervous breakdown might be imminent. Granger was holding strong, however. He was almost tempted to have someone – preferably a Bellatrix-looking someone – jump out and yell, 'boo!' just to see if she would keel over with fear. Which wasn't a very nice thought, Draco had to admit, but it wasn't because it was Granger. It was because he was plainly curious to see how she would react to that.

"Draco, I was hoping—Ah." Draco turned around to see Tibur's crestfallen expression. He'd obviously been hoping to catch Draco before Granger arrived. Draco tilted his head to the side curiously, hoping to glean something from Tibur's expression, but he was now focused on Granger. "Hello there," he said in that friendly way he had. That was, of course, _not_ the voice he'd used to introduce himself to _Draco_.

"Hello," Granger responded politely, seeming a bit out of her depth.

Draco dutifully made the introductions. "Tibur, this is Hermione Granger. Granger, this is Virgil Tibur." They shook hands as expected and Draco explained further to Tibur since he didn't seem inclined to leave. "She's looking for something to do with werewolf rights."

"Ah, well, good luck with that," Tibur said, grinning, and Draco saw Granger relax from his periphery. Tibur looked like an intimidating, Norse God-esque type of a man – in an 'I've left my helmet with the horns on my other ship' way – until he grinned. Then he looked like a big friendly bear. He touched Draco on the shoulder and said apologetically, "Draco, can I speak with you a moment?"

"Of course," Draco murmured. He made sure Granger knew her way to the library before he turned and addressed Tibur. "What is it?"

Tibur looked well and truly worried. "The Council." He was almost fretting about it.

Draco nearly grinned in response, only the edge of fear in Tibur's eyes stayed him. "What about them?"

"Well, they're not thrilled I'm still here," Tibur said.

Draco responded instantly with, "Tough shit."

Tibur smiled at him, a grateful twitch to his mouth. He scrubbed at his scruffy beard the way he always did when he was putting something off because he was afraid of how Draco would react. "They also mean to test your abilities."

Draco shrugged. Was that it? "So, let them test away."

"Draco."

Draco immediately stiffened. He'd never heard Tibur sound so serious before and he _lived_ for serious. "What is it?"

"Your abilities. They're not where they should be." Tibur looked agonized. "By now you should be able to get a realistic premonition weeks in advance of the actual event and be able to decipher its exact timeline in an instant."

"Weeks in advance?" Draco repeated, feeling a bit slack jawed. He shook his head, trying to clear it. "I can't do any of that," he said stupidly.

"I know," Tibur said, exaggerating the syllables.

Draco blinked. "What happens if I can't do any of that?"

"They reassign your case," Tibur said, hanging his head.

"Meaning you would have to leave?" Draco hazarded. Tibur nodded and even though he had nearly half a foot on Draco and more than a few stones on him in weight, he looked smaller somehow. Draco could feel his head starting to get fuzzy with something a lot like despair. He swiftly turned that into anger. He pushed Tibur hard in the chest and Tibur let himself be pushed. "Why didn't you teach me it then if you knew it might come to this?"

Tibur didn't look angry, just resigned. "You were upset and you had a life you wanted to live. I didn't want to be the reason you didn't pursue it."

Draco dissolved into uncertainty. "Can you teach me all of it before they arrive?"

"Draco."

Tibur didn't have to say anything more for Draco to understand that as a no. He shook his head and decided, "They're not taking you anywhere."

Tibur caught his eyes with a hard gaze and he said with bite, "That's right. They're not."

Draco let out a strangled breath. Well, that was settled then. As long as they were both in agreement on that then Draco was sure nothing would get Tibur gone. Which was just as it should be.

He sloped into the library and dropped into one of father's hideously upholstered chairs, completely drained of all good feeling. The Council would come down on them in less than a month's time. Draco had no hope of being ready by then, not with being an Auror, but he hoped to convince them that if Tibur stayed on he might be ready someday.

"Are you all right?"

Draco started something terrible. He had forgot all about Granger in the face of Tibur's news. He craned his neck around and found the girl hunkered down on one of the sofas, four books piled up on the seat next to her and one open in her lap. "Sorry?" he offered.

She gestured towards him with her hand still holding onto the book. "You seem… out of sorts," she diagnosed.

Draco snorted, though he still felt a bit hollow. "Being Weasley's partner will do that to a bloke."

Granger flicked the top of the page over and over as though working up to something. "I'm sure you're no prince, either," she decided.

Draco couldn't quite deny that but he did have some moral high ground to stand on. "At least I attempted civility before falling into spite."

Granger hesitated and then closed the book in her lap. "Ron's—He's been through a lot is all."

"We all have." Draco scoffed. "It was a war, Granger. No one got out unscathed."

"I know that," she was quick to point out, "and so does Ron, on one level or another."

Draco could see she was as frustrated as he was. He sheathed his claws and backed away. Tapping his fingers against his knee, he asked, "What do you suggest?" Granger looked up at him in surprise. She obviously hadn't expected he would offer such a large olive branch. "He's meant to be my partner. And _that's_ meant to mean something. It's supposed to mean I can trust him to protect me in dangerous situations. As it is now, I can't expect Weasley to do anything more than hit me with a brick."

Granger bit her lip and leaned forward in her seat. "Don't hide from him," she said plainly. At Draco's askance look, she went on. "He's a Gryffindor through and through. He likes emotions that are worn on sleeves, not buried so deep they might as well not exist. If you're upset with him be upset with him, don't feign some polite standoffishness. He'll respect you more for it because that's something he can understand. If you're scared, angry, happy – give it away somehow."

Draco rubbed at his forehead, feeling the futileness of it all. "You expect me to change my entire chemical makeup to please Weasley?"

"Being someone's partner means something, doesn't it?" She threw his words back at him. "If you want to be able to trust him, you have to take the first step – trust him with what you're feeling. He won't betray it if you do."

Draco at least believed that to be true. Weasley had proven to be a fiercely loyal minion to Potter and, though he could occasionally get turned around, he always came through in the end. Draco let his head fall back against the cushion and he stared up at the ceiling. It was perfectly uniform in color and consistency. "And what about Potter?" His voice rose an octave as he asked the question and he cursed himself for the tell.

Granger seemed genuinely lost. "Harry?"

Draco shrugged his shoulders, affecting nonchalance. "I'm assuming they're a package deal. How do I get Potter on my side?"

Granger shook her head with a snort. "Harry already is on your side, Malfoy. All you have to do is stop being awful to him."

* * *

Draco tried. Honestly, he did. He took Granger's tips into account and even tried to defer to Weasley when the situation allowed it. But the man was a stubborn idiot.

Draco lowered his omnioculars and turned to Weasley, trying diplomatically, "How do you think we should handle it?"

Weasley snatched the omnioculars out of his hands and shoved them deep inside their goody bag. He snorted. "Like you give one damn what I think. Just do what you want, Malfoy."

Well, that was a brilliant plan. They were sure not to die horribly painful deaths with solid footing like that. Weasley started to creep out of their alleyway so Draco smacked him in the back of the head.

"Ow!" Weasley yowled, rustling up his hair. "What the fuck, Malfoy?"

Granger had said to be honest and wear his emotions on his sleeve. Fine then. "Weasley, your being an idiot makes me worry that one or both of us is going to get killed."

Weasley cast a Bat Bogey hex on him before tearing after Dolohov himself. He ended up slipping on a ketchup packet when he entered the Muggle restaurant and knocking himself unconscious while Dolohov took that time to finish his meal and then simply Apparate away. Draco was even told later that he very politely observed the Statute of Secrecy and didn't Apparate in front of any Muggles – he also left a very generous tip supposedly. Draco wouldn't know firsthand. He was busy flailing around the alley screaming. There was little that was as traumatizing as being chased about by your own bogeys.

At the end of the day, there was only one thing Draco was certain of: Granger's tips were for shit.

* * *

Tibur and Granger were already in the library discussing something or other when Draco stomped his way in. Not the most mature way to enter a room, he could admit, but he also didn't care. He wanted their attention, especially since Weasley wouldn't spare him even a cursory glance most days.

Granger looked up first. "How'd it go?"

The fight was gone now and rapidly replacing it was overwhelming exhaustion. He plopped down next to Tibur who was seated across from Granger and addressed her. "It's useless. I'm fairly certain the only thing he hears when I open my mouth is 'I killed your brother, I killed your brother, I killed your brother' and the only thing that stops him leaning over and strangling me with his bare hands is that somewhere in that dense head of his he _knows_ it's not true."

Granger's mouth hung open as though she couldn't decide what to say next. Tibur rushed to fill the silence. He frowned and said the way people did when they were telling more than asking, "It can't be that bad."

Draco pursed his lips. "He hates me, really and truly." He sighed, realizing the only way to keep sane was to stop beating a dead thestral. "I think I'll have to ask Shacklebolt for reassignment, as banging my head against this brick wall is beginning to cause brain damage."

Both Granger and Tibur seemed at a loss for words. Draco thought they all expected he'd be able to weather the Weasley storm – and Draco had to admit, he too had hoped he would be able to prove Shacklebolt right when it came down to it. He hated having to admit to the defeat but he didn't see any way around it.

* * *

Shacklebolt refused to accept his request for reassignment. "Six months," he'd said. "Give me six months and if, at the end of it, there's been no improvement then I'll grant your request."

Draco reluctantly agreed. He and Weasley had already been partnered for three. Draco wasn't sure he could handle the part two to that but he also didn't see much of a way around it. Unable to work together as they were meant they would both usually attempt to crack their cases themselves. This led to little time left over for anything else and a lot of wasted hours. Draco had no doubt that working together would lead them to an answer three times as fast but Weasley refused to so much as entertain the idea.

It didn't help that Tibur was beginning to get on his case as well. Draco supposed he should have expected it, considering how often he blew him off for lessons and the Council practically breathing down their necks but he still felt a bit cornered when Tibur finally approached him about it. "You're falling behind in your studies." Tibur covered the page Draco was attempting to read with his large hand. He tipped his head to catch Draco's eyes and said earnestly, "Draco, you have the potential to be the greatest Seer in centuries if you would just work at it. Your visions could be as clear to you as this moment is."

Draco huffed hair out of his face and promised, "Another day, Tibur." He leafed through the folders under Tibur's fingers, his entire body strung tight with the stress of his time crunch. "I'm at a dead end on the MacAvoy case and I've only got a few days to crack it."

* * *

Granger's werewolf case was long finished but she still showed up at the manor more often than not. Some nights she would help Draco with his research but most often she would eat the Swiss chocolates his father insisted on keeping about at all times and wander the library deciding which new book to enmesh herself in. Tibur would join them on those nights with his own potions research and they would all sit around in comfortable silence. Draco thought that might be what it was like to have honest-to-goodness friends.

That night when Granger showed up on his doorstep, she pushed past him violently and said in a chilly tone, "Well, I've let him have it then." She swung around to face Draco, frizzy hair falling over her eyes. "You're trying whereas he's just being a—a—a troglodyte!"

Ah, the Weasel then.

"I won't say I disagree." Draco helped her to shrug out of her cloak and he hung it on the peg by the door. She was still in a state and Draco wasn't quite sure how to deal with females at their best, let alone something like… this.

"Draco, we heard—" his mother started. She had exited the dining room with Tibur in tow and she smiled slightly at Granger. "Miss Granger, how nice to see you again."

Granger tried to hitch a polite expression on her face but mostly she just looked like a huffy lion whose mane had been crimped. "Always a pleasure, Mrs. Malfoy."

"You seem upset, dear." Narcissa frowned and her curious gaze fell on Draco who all but threw up his hands. "Are you quite all right?"

"Fine, fine," Granger said, starting to pace. "Only my boyfriend is a Neanderthal who won't look past the end of his nose."

"Ah, perfectly understandable then," Narcissa said kindly.

Granger smiled up at her gratefully and Narcissa led her into the kitchen, presumably for a strong cup of tea.

Draco managed to catch Tibur's eye and thankfully he looked just as lost as Draco felt. Since when was showing up on someone else's doorstep in a state about having an idiot for a boyfriend 'perfectly understandable'? Tibur seemed just as uncertain as to how Point A led to Point B.

* * *

Granger's telling off appeared to have no effect on Weasley's behavior, unless one counted 'making it infinitely worse' of course. Weasley didn't even bother with letting him say his piece anymore and just ran about doing whatever he liked – which was usually something reckless and predominantly stupid. Today it led to Draco cracking his elbow open after he fell while running at breakneck speed from a dragon some batty old woman was keeping as a pet in Kent.

Its name was Crackers.

"Because he loved the taste of Crackers!" that awful woman told them later in interrogation, a fond smile on her face. Crackers turned out to be the name of the Kneazle she'd had once upon a time and Draco would definitely need a shower or ten to feel clean again.

Draco got approval from Shacklebolt to leave mid-day just to change and scrub. Mad old women with their creepy smiles and domestic dragons. He shivered, stripping off his cloak as he strode through the manor. "Tibur," he sang out, hoping to get a chance to whinge at him. His mother would still be out doing some socialite nonsense and his father was in Spain at the moment. He frowned and glowered about the room, watching as a house-elf popped in to gather up his fallen cloak. "If I were Tibur, where would I be?" He brightened as he thought of it. Tibur had been going on and on about some organic potion he was working on. It was meant to be a cure for insomnia and, if it worked as he hoped it would, it would have none of the nasty side effects today's potions did.

Draco entered the potions lab, the cauldron simmering away and grinned. "You won't believe today, Tibur. I was chased about by a bloody Vipertooth kept by a – wait for it – doddering eighty-seven-year-old woman named Birdy. I am not taking the piss. She was keeping it as a pet because she was lonely. Her children never Floo anymore." Draco snorted, picking up one of the vials and sniffing it. He pulled a face and stoppered it with the cap a little more thoroughly. "Wouldn't father be proud? I really was a dragon slayer today." Draco hopped up on the counter. "Well, all right, we didn't so much _slay_ it as move it to the reserve on _Inis Mór_. I met Weasley's brother, too, he was there – dragon-keeping I suppose, not such a bad bloke. I suspect he was adopted for his red hair. But, regardless, it was all still fairly impressive," Draco insisted. He tipped back a bottle of some awful neon pink concoction and scrunched up his nose at it. He kicked his feet a bit. "I promise no matter how old you get, I'll keep up with the visits. Merlin only knows what you'd decide to keep in a spare bedroom."

Tibur groaned.

"You can't tell me you wouldn't get a bit, ah, outlandish with the choice. I suspect it'd be a Yeti. I can just see you taking tea with it and reading it that _Quibbler_ rag." Draco chuckled quietly to himself. When Tibur didn't answer after a few minutes, Draco rolled his eyes. "Don't get all offended, Tibur. I think it's only proper you dine with a Yeti. You two would be nearly the same size and I doubt you've had that in common with anything human-shaped. You can talk about how hard it is to work in low-ceilinged rooms."

Tibur groaned louder and for the first time Draco realized that he had no idea where the sound was coming from. "Tibur?" The groan came again and a chill ran down Draco's spine as he began to suspect it came from the floor. It was probably nothing, a potions mishap and he'd bumped his head or a cauldron exploded and knocked the huge man down. Draco shot an accusatory glance at the intact cauldron. He moved around the table carefully and fell to his knees.

"No."

"Cor, you're chatty today." Tibur's voice was patchy and sounded as if it'd been dragged through a wood chipper first. He coughed and tried to cover with a grin. His lips were bloody and his front tooth was chipped.

Draco crawled over to him without thinking. He was a mountain of a man, he would be fine. He was indestructible. He propped Tibur's head up with his hand, all the while trying not to look at him. The pool of blood around him was starting to crest the leg of the table and Draco could feel the bottom drop out of his stomach. "Mungo's," he said, and Salazar, he didn't sound much better than Tibur. "I'll get you to Mungo's and they'll patch you up proper-like." He tried to get Tibur's limp arm around his neck before he remembered that the man was as big as a house. His nostrils flared and he felt like the world's worst dunce. "I'm a wizard," he chastised himself. His eyes were blurry when he finally managed to drag out his wand.

Tibur grabbed his hand as he raised it to cast a Feather-light charm. "They knew," he said urgently. His eyes were unfocused and Draco couldn't look at them. He hunched over and Tibur's gaze darted back and forth unseeingly. "They were after you. I threw them off your scent," he smiled, his bloody lips making it look sinister, "convinced them a spoilt boy like you could never have the gift of foresight."

Draco placed his hand on Tibur's chest and wiped at his nose with his own shoulder. "Who, who was it?" He tried to make his voice sound hard but he only managed shaky and frightened. "Who did this?"

Tibur squeezed his hand and pulled it closer, as though trying to get it into focus. "The Third Eye."

Draco shook his head, feeling so useless. "I don't—"

"They steal visions," Tibur forced out through a rattling cough. "They would have killed you for them."

"What's the point of this stupid _talent_ if I can't—" Draco knew he likely sounded whiny and woe-is-me selfish while his mentor – no, his _best friend_ – bled to death right in front of him but he was far from thinking straight. He pounded his fist into the scratchy cement beneath them. Harder and harder and harder.

"Draco, stop. Please stop." There were tears in Tibur's eyes too and Draco had no way of knowing if he had any control over that. Tibur reached up to Draco's forearm and placed a death grip on it. "They were blocking your sight. This is not your fault."

Draco stood up and clenched his bloody fist. This was pathetic, this wallowing. No final bell had tolled. "I don't want you to die," he determined. And he wasn't going to let it happen either. He was meant to be something special, wasn't he? A powerful Seer, everyone kept saying so. He'd made the future bend to him and he was going to dictate what happened to Tibur. He was going to save him. He cast the charm on Tibur and made to lift him.

Tibur's smile was far away and Draco didn't think the man could really see him anymore. "You were the best of them – the strongest, the cleverest." His voice pitched oddly. "You'll live, Draco. You'll be something to see." He laughed at his own stupid joke while Draco threw Floo powder into the flames and called out for St. Mungo's.

* * *

Tibur had been dead thirty-seven days.

Draco hated him for it.

Still, Tibur had wanted him to be a master Seer and Draco had thrown all his cases aside in order to become one. The Council had tried to assign him a new Professor and Draco had nearly brought the entire manor crumbling down in his eagerness to make them understand how much that was _not_ happening.

His visions had gotten clearer over the weeks, though they still gave hardly any time to prepare and, the clearer they got, the less lead time he was given. He wished Tibur was there to explain what he was doing wrong. But he wasn't. Because he was dead. The selfish prick.

Draco had taken off work for the first week with Shacklebolt's heartfelt condolences but he couldn't stay in bed the rest of his life. Much as he might have wished the opposite. He couldn't sleep, he'd just lay awake and stare at the scars on his hand that had formed when he refused to let the Healers fix his bloodied knuckles. They'd healed the Muggle way and it had left mounds of scar tissue behind. He'd mostly gone back to work to avoid his parents' sympathetic eyes.

At least he knew there was no chance of that from Weasley.

He and the red menace were creeping through an underground tunnel looking for the burrower that had made it when Weasley knocked his shoulder with a scowl. "You told Hermione on me," he accused.

Draco suspected it was his quiet acquiescence to all of Weasley's wishes that was putting his partner so on edge. "I didn't," he answered quietly. Otherwise he ignored Weasley and his goading entirely.

Weasley knocked his shoulder harder. "Did you make bright, puppy eyes at her and tell her how big, bad Ron Weasley has been being _mean_ to you?" He sneered. "You know, Hermione's got the biggest heart – she'll help even the vilest creatures."

Draco shook him off. "Leave off, Weasley."

"No, come on. Let's talk it out, _partner_ ," Weasley insisted, his lips curved cruelly. He spread out his hands. "That's what we're supposed to be, right?"

Draco froze and hissed, "Weasley, shut up."

"Talk like that and we're never going to—" Weasley started in a happy-go-lucky tone of voice before Draco doubled over. The vision pressed against his temples like it didn't mean to be contained inside his brain. His head _throbbed_ and Draco groaned as he was forced to his knees. Chalky ash fell down on his head and Draco rubbed it between his fingers, feeling the soft slip-slide against his skin. Weasley was at his side, his face drawn with anxiety. "Malfoy, what is it?" he asked in the Auror-voice he used when he was questioning a victim.

Draco looked up as he struggled to his feet. Weasley helped him to stand with his hand on Draco's elbow. "Rain," Draco said, trying to make sense of it, "but dry." He rubbed his fingers again but of course the residue hadn't really been there. He squinted. "Like dust or ash or…" He paused as his brain finally caught up to him. His mouth dropped open.

"What?" Weasley demanded.

Draco shared a wide-eyed look with him – Weasley's blues burning with something like fear – before he gasped out, "Collapse." He grabbed Weasley by the shoulder and threw him as hard as he could. "It's going to collapse," he managed to get out before it did just that.

Ron dragged his foot out from under the fallen rock. He thought he might have broken a toe or two and maybe a bone in his foot but otherwise he'd been untouched by the collapse. "Malfoy, shit!" He couldn't even see Malfoy under the rock. It had all happened so fast. He hadn't had time to pull Malfoy to safety with him. "Malfoy!" he called out, the dust in the air causing him to cough. This would never have happened if he had just listened to Malfoy. He hadn't said anything this time, only blindly went along with what Ron had wanted, but if he hadn't been so slavishly agreeable of late, he would have called Ron's plan the work of idiots and he would have fought him on it. Ron patted his hand against the rock closest to him and called into the rubble, "Just hang on, all right? I'm going to get you out of here." He pulled out his wand and started Levitating the rocks, one by one, off of Malfoy, saying determinedly, "You'll be all right."

* * *

Draco blinked open his eyes. His hands smoothed over warm wood beneath him. He was sitting on a park bench. He didn't remember when he'd done that. His face was warm from the afternoon sun and his feet were bare. He curled his toes into warm and lush green grass. He leaned his head back with a contented hum and let the sun wash over him. Far below him, the sound of waves crashing against a cliff face created a soothing soundtrack to his lazy thoughts.

"You've gotten cleverer at interpreting."

Draco looked over and squinted. Tibur was sitting on the bench next to him, pulling a blade of grass apart with his fingers. He smiled and Draco noticed that his teeth weren't chipped. Draco frowned. He couldn't remember why he'd ever thought they would be.

He picked his feet up and dug them into Tibur's thigh with his legs bent up. He leaned forward and crossed his arms over his knees, resting his chin on his smooth, crossed hands. "Dry rain?" he said. Tibur laughed a robust and healthy laugh and that felt right too. "Salazar, that was just embarrassing." He turned his face out towards the sun and closed his eyes.

Tibur's hand closed around one of his feet gently and Draco wiggled his toes. "You've accomplished so much in so little time." Draco turned back to look at him. His hair looked more orange than he'd ever seen it due to the sunlight. It had gotten a bit longer and it fell past his shoulders now. His beard had grown too. It covered more of his mobile, friendly face. A face that Draco missed a great deal. Draco realized they'd never spent much time together outside the manor. He regretted that.

He shrugged his shoulders to himself. He'd just have to make sure they spent more time together now.

"You've made me so proud, you know?"

Draco smiled and felt better than he had in ages. He wriggled his toes against Tibur's thigh to show how pleased he was. The waves beat against the rock more relentlessly and it was lulling Draco into a dozy state of mind. He yawned. "I almost think you died on purpose," he said, "just so I wouldn't be caught unawares." Where had that come from?

Tibur's fingers curled around the inside of his foot and brushed the ticklish ridge where his toes started.

"A diabolical scheme, wasn't it?"

Draco pushed his foot into Tibur's hand in an attempt to stop him. "One might call it petty," he retorted.

Tibur sighed and turned his face up to the sky. "You'll need to wake up now," he said rather offhandedly, as though the words weren't really his, as though Draco had incorporated an alarm into his dream.

Draco looked out at the tranquility around him and decided, "Not just yet."

* * *

Hermione came flying onto the ward and all but assaulted Ron with the question, "How is he?"

Ron stared up at her. He still had a streak of ash on the hem of his robes but that was the only remnant of his injury. "Still unconscious." He rubbed his forehead, smearing dirt and sweat around. "His parents are in with him now."

Harry was right behind Hermione. He looked as tense and on edge as Ron felt. "What happened?" he asked tightly.

"He saved my life." Ron blinked wide eyes. He could still hardly believe it had happened. "We were arguing. _I_ was arguing and he saw it." Ron vaguely remembered he'd kept his word and stayed quiet about Malfoy's visions until that moment. It didn't matter much now. Malfoy might not even live to be pissed about it. Ron's stomach churned.

Harry's face was pale. "Saw what?"

"The tunnel collapsing," Ron said and his voice sounded like an echo of an echo. "He pushed me out of the way." He tugged at his hair. "I don't know why he did it."

Hermione's lips were trembling and she rolled them into her mouth. She was still shaking all over. "Because he's your partner," she burst out. "That means something to him even if it doesn't to you." She swallowed a deep gulp of air. "You have no idea what he's been going through and you can't even pretend to care."

* * *

When Draco opened his eyes, it was dark and the Mediwitch at his side said he'd been asleep for nine days. Draco groaned and tried to move his legs. "Have you been renting me out as a Hippogriff pillow?"

She had a soft laugh that probably came from being about ill folks all the while. Something behind her jerked and Draco reared back. Someone was struggling out of the dark edge of the room and into the lamplight. Weasley leaned forward in the hospital chair and scrubbed a hand over his face. "You're awake," he croaked.

The Mediwitch pressed her hand to Draco's forearm supportively before leaving them alone. "Apparently." Draco's voice was no better and he looked about, finding a glass of water on the bedside table between him and Weasley.

Weasley picked it up before Draco could make a move. To Draco's surprise, instead of moving it further away, he leaned in and held the cup while Draco drank, his grey eyes narrowed and prepared for the first sign of trickery. Weasley set the paper cup down and scooted to the edge of his seat, his hands clasped between his knees. "You saved my life," he said as though he needed Draco to confirm it.

Draco shifted in his cot. It felt like every muscle he had – and a few that had popped up just to make a nuisance of themselves – was set to Ache. "Well I saved you from the hurt of a lifetime, at least," he admitted. Weasley was biting his lip and looking generally agonized. Draco had to put a pin in that. "Don't think on it too long, Weasley. There was only time for instinctual reactions, otherwise I would have thrown you back to get my own forward propulsion going."

Weasley was still biting his lip and attempting to grin around that. It made an odd picture. "Good to know you're still the same old Malfoy, then. Otherwise I would have felt like the world's worst bastard, the way I've been treating you."

Draco cleared his throat. That was the best apology he would get, he knew. "Glad we've cleared that up, then." And that was the best acknowledgement of it Weasley would get.

* * *

Draco took a few days sick leave before returning to the working grind. Shacklebolt and Weasley appeared to have been waiting for it so they could pounce as he found them both in his office as soon as he came in.

Shacklebolt thumped him on the shoulder. "Glad to have you back in one piece, Auror Malfoy."

Draco tried not to wince. "Thank you, sir." He didn't succeed in not rubbing at his shoulder.

"I'm here to give you and Auror Weasley your new assignment."

"Looking forward to it, sir," Draco lied through his teeth. He'd mostly been hoping for a day full of physically unchallenging paperwork.

"It's still in the early stages but Auror Weasley here thought you might be interested despite that." Draco shot a sharp look at him, unsure if their clumsy truce existed outside near death experiences. Weasley gave a rather dignified nod in response to his gaze. Draco squinted. "It's regarding a group that calls themselves The Third Eye. Nasty buggers, they are. Apparently they go after Seers in an attempt to steal visions and sell them as makeshift prophecies."

Draco had stiffened at the first sound of the name and it was an effort to get air to his lungs. "I didn't think the Auror department had anything on that group, sir." And by 'didn't think,' he really meant 'knew beyond the shadow of a doubt' because he'd scrounged through all the files he could get his hands on in a fruitless search for revenge.

"We didn't," Shacklebolt agreed, "until we got a tip from a woman who used to be a part of the group."

The back of Draco's neck prickled. "Where is she now?"

Shacklebolt's brow furrowed at Draco's eagerness and he answered slowly, "She's not in custody. She left an anonymous parchment reporting on some of the group's activities over the past year. Signed it Janice Maywhistle, an obvious pseudonym. One would hope," he added with a frown.

"Virgil Tibur," Draco choked out, "did it—"

Weasley stepped up then and placed a hand on his shoulder. He squeezed hard to stop him talking. "It didn't mention him. I thought it might be something you'd like to work." Draco quickly realized what Weasley was doing as Shacklebolt looked between the two of them suspiciously. If Shacklebolt knew the case was personal, he'd never let Draco on it.

Draco couldn't quite manage to say the thank you that he wanted to Weasley but he thought it at him as hard as he could. Even though he wouldn't hear another whisper about The Third Eye the rest of his Auror career, having the file to keep in his bottom drawer – the only file he kept in his bottom drawer – became something of a security blanket for him.

* * *

"Buy you a drink?"

Draco looked up from the very in depth wallowing he was doing. Weasley stood at his table, uncomfortable but determined. Draco tilted his near-empty glass forward to stare into its bottom. He threw back the last sip. "You know I'm Malfoy, don't you?"

Weasley grinned in a terribly tentative fashion. "Shut up," he countered. "What do you want?"

Draco shrugged his shoulders. "Nettle wine will do," he decided. He would need something a bit less intoxicating than whisky if both he and Weasley expected to walk away from this meeting largely unscathed. Empty peanut shells littered the tabletop. Draco may or may not have been responsible for them. He used the sleeve of his robe to knock them to the floor. He dragged it through a water ring or two as well but he hardly noticed it. Weasley returned before too long, before Draco could start to miss him and his alcohol-fetching skills, leastways.

Weasley took the barstool across from him at the table. It was one of those high, little tables whose design Draco now feared was meant as some sort of blaggered person death trap. He certainly wouldn't be moving any time soon. Weasley set Draco's drink down in front of him with care and took a deep draught of his own. It looked like a lager of some sort.

Well.

Draco was drunk. And feeling brusque.

He threw his hands out to his sides. "So this is what it takes, huh? Saving your arse from a load of falling rock? Forget that I'm brilliant in the field and a genuine asset to the—" Draco's laugh caught on a rather undignified snort. He hunched over and chortled. "Salazar Slytherin, I almost said _team_."

Weasley's finger beat against his glass uncertainly. A beer stein, Draco thought it might be called. "I never doubted any of that," he admitted, "even from the beginning." Weasley shrugged. "I saw you in school. I knew you could handle yourself with a wand and I knew you were clever. I never thought I'd got stuck with the class dud." He glanced off to the far end of the pub and his mouth tightened. "I couldn't have handled it if you mentioned my family. It's a sensitive subject at the best of times and this is hardly that."

Draco snorted, more dignified this time. "Even I'm not low enough to tease you about your dead brother."

"I couldn't be sure of that," said Weasley and Draco wasn't sure there was ever a time he'd felt more insulted. He could also admit that he didn't deserve the benefit of any doubt when it came to Weasley. Weasley sighed. "Plus it felt kind of good, tearing you down and you not fighting back. It was like you knew you deserved it, too."

Draco huffed out a laugh. He gripped the stem of his glass between his fingers and twisted it. "I was too tired to fight you, Weasel. I don't know that I'd be able to come up with a good barb even if I tried." He bit out a grin. "War is exhausting and I'm still far from recovered."

Weasley looked up at the ceiling of the pub as though searching for patience. "Godric, you have a way of just—You always land on top, don't you?" He sounded equally disgusted and impressed.

Draco's brows drew down in a deep vee. "What are you on about?"

Weasley, for no apparent reason, laughed out loud. He dragged a hand through his choppy hair and leaned his elbows onto the table. It tipped his way. "I can't believe—I'm in a situation where Draco Malfoy was the better man. You're either the best bully on the block or the better man. You even win playing a Gryffindor's game."

He'd sounded a bit… _starstruck_ saying that. Draco tilted his head to the side. "Do you _envy_ me?"

Weasley looked amused rather than defensive. "You were popular and always in command in school." Weasley brought up a shoulder. "Now you're a former Death Eater who escaped Azkaban by the skin of his teeth. I can honestly say your shine's gone a bit lackluster."

Draco smiled into the glare on the table. "Nice, Weasley." He tipped his glass to the man.

A smile was tugging at Weasley's mouth and he cleared his throat. "I am sorry I was such an arse to you. But you were pissing me off something fierce." Draco stared at him curiously. "I was starting to respect you, with your calm head and your genuinely not idiotic plans. And I _hated_ you for that."

"There's a feeling I understand."

Weasley didn't wear his shock well. "Yeah?"

"You've a brilliant mind for strategy. I was actually starting to believe you didn't just ride in on Potter's coattails," Draco said with a smirk.

"You're a git," Weasley noted and it almost sounded fond. It was obvious then that their camaraderie was fueled entirely by drink but Draco decided not to draw attention to that. Weasley suppressed a belch and added, "But you're bloody clever. I never could have guessed how much."

Draco's lips quirked. "Let's stop serenading each other before the barkeep gets ideas."

"Arse," Weasley jabbed before gesturing to Draco's empty wine glass. When had he gone and done that? "Another round?"

In for a Knut… "Sure."

Weasley came back with two glasses of Blishen's and he set them down on the table heavily. His sage advice was, "Belt up."

"You do expect us to be able to _stand_ tomorrow, don't you?" Draco squawked. Weasley's answer was a wink and Draco shrugged and downed half the thing in one go. That was the only way to drink Blishen's – so quickly you wouldn't accidentally get a taste of it.

By the third time Weasley left and returned to the table he'd slopped most the alcohol down his front and he was more than ready to address the serious issues. "Why did you hate me so much? Was it just our dads? Because I'll fully admit that's what I came into the whole thing with."

Draco shook his head and peeled off the label on Weasley's bottle of Simison Steaming Stout. It had a steam engine on it. Well. Wasn't that just the cleverest? He shoved his hair out of his face – it was tickling his nose – and said stoutly, "It was Potter." Weasley's attention was unblinking. "You'd got Potter and I was terribly up in arms about it. Over the years it only got worse the more I wanted him."

Weasley blinked at him. "Harry's friendship you mean?"

A frission of something shot down Draco's spine like some vague warning. "What?" he said, suddenly feeling very alert.

"You wanted Harry's _friendship_?" Weasley repeated, real slow.

"Right. Of course," Draco agreed. His mouth felt dry.

Weasley pulled his elbows back into his body and he said quietly, "You didn't want Harry's friendship."

Draco's eyes were wide and he felt sick. He slid off his seat, all the while babbling, "I have to go. I—I'll see you on Monday." He struggled to grab his cloak off the rack by the door but he managed not to take either it or himself down. He left the pub without looking back.

* * *

Draco didn't bother with pleasantries after he'd barged into Weasley's office Monday morning. "Did you tell anyone?" he demanded. He still felt shaky and half-sick and he was more than sure that he didn't want to hear Weasley's answer but he could only begin his spin campaign if he knew where he stood.

Weasley set his quill down carefully and shook his head. Draco slumped into the chair in front of Weasley's desk, feeling boneless. Weasley handed him the cup of tea he'd made for himself. "Did you think I would?"

"Cheers," Draco said gratefully, raising the cup and taking a first taste. He placed a hand on his sternum and breathed in deep. "Worse, I expected flyers," he admitted. He set the cup down on Weasley's desk and tongued his front teeth. "I hoped, but, well—"

"I didn't tell anyone," Weasley said again. He tapped his fingers on his countertop in a rhythmless beat. He was obviously trying to get something out and Draco let him work up to it. Draco's tea – _Weasley's_ tea rather – was half gone by the time he managed it. "How long have you—I mean, when did you—"

Ah. That question. "I'm not sure exactly, probably since school." He wondered how smart it was to tell Weasley but he had no one else to tell it to any longer. Speaking to a gravestone just didn't fulfill the need properly and he'd pushed Hermione away while he grieved and he hadn't reached out to her again, not yet anyway. "There've been dreams lately, though. Visions. Proper visions. Far off in the future visions that leave no room for—Well. Said all it needed to say, really."

Draco could still remember them, clear as if they'd happened only that morning. Arithmancy put them years off but it almost felt as if they'd already come to pass. Because the emotions in them lingered, making Draco feel things that had no basis in reality – yet. But the sentiment left behind was as real as anything else. The visions were little things, so small that Draco knew when they actually happened it would be lost to the minutia of a life well settled.

_Walking through the front door after being out all night to find Potter sitting at their kitchen counter with a mug of tea. He's upset and Draco knows it somehow, even though it doesn't show on his face. Draco doesn't want this fight. He's so tired and he's been away so long and all he wants is tea of his own and to sit in his home and drink it. And that's when he sees it on the counter by the drying rack. His favorite teacup. It's cracked down the side from an unscheduled fall into the sink and it's a hideous matte green and it's almost too large to fit in his hand and it was Tibur's. Now it's his. And it's full to the brim with tea that's been kept steaming under Potter's relentless Warming Charms. And Draco's so madly in love with him that it hurts._

_He's sitting on a park bench in Dover and it's his paradise, where he'd gone when he'd wanted to die. He couldn't believe he'd ever wanted it now, not with Potter sitting next to him. The sun is glaring back at them off the lapping waves and Draco's skin feels so warm, almost feverish, and he's in a blank sort of shock. Potter covers his hand with his own and there's so much patience and forgiveness in his gaze that Draco feels choked with it. Potter says, "You don't have to decide now." And even though Draco knows Potter yearns for nothing more than an answer to his question, he knows Draco isn't ready to give it and he doesn't press. Draco drops his head onto Potter's shoulder and loves him more than there are words for._

_They're at dinner with a man and a woman that Draco doesn't recognize but his head is someplace else. He's picking at his food and the conversation rolls over him and he's utterly lost to its meaning. He doesn't want to be here but it's a favor, for Potter, and there is so very little he wouldn't do for Potter. He wants to climb into bed and pull the covers over his head and not come out till morning and he's making himself sicker and sicker over it when he feels a hand smooth its way onto his thigh. The touch is an instant balm and so welcome that he actually sighs. Potter gives him a lopsided smile that Draco's only ever seen inside his own head and it's a shot of strength and he knows he'll get through this just as does everything else, with Potter at his side._

Draco'd been lost in his head so long that he felt rather wrong-footed when Weasley broke the silence. "Must be bizarre," he said. "Seeing it all happen before it does."

Draco offered him a grim smile. "Bizarre. Or unpleasant."

Weasley reared back. "You don't like it?"

Draco shrugged. "The world's meant to be a mystery." He set Weasley's cup on its saucer. "Having the visions means you get a peek at it but never enough to change anything. There's nothing to do if you don't like what you see."

"Like you and Harry," Weasley hazarded.

Draco let out a huff of air and smiled down at his knees. "Yeah, like me and Harry."

* * *

Ron wrapped his hand around his Butterbeer mug and leaned on the railing next to Harry. "So." He reached for a topic of conversation that didn't have to do with Malfoy and his dancing sugarplum visions of his and Harry's future love affair. He'd never been very good at keeping things from Harry and he was already hiding Draco's visions from everyone else in the department. He made a popping sound with his mouth. "How are you and Gin doing?"

Harry looked at him askance. "Why the interest?" There was something dark in his face that Ron couldn't pretend to understand.

Ron shrugged and managed not to say 'it's the only safe topic.' He inhaled deeply and came up with, "You just haven't talked about her in a while."

Harry still didn't look all that pleased with the subject matter. "We talked it out," he said slowly, edgily. "Right now our lives are fairly all-or-nothing. Doesn't make sense to try and add a relationship on top of that."

Ron nodded even though he hadn't really been listening and he wouldn't have understood if he had been. "So you mean to get back with her?" he clarified.

Harry shifted his jaw forward and bit out, "Of course."

* * *

Somewhere along the way Malfoy's confidences had become _Ron's_ confidences and that meant that Ron was hiding things from Harry. Which made Ron want to seize up with guilt every time they were in the same room together. Which made Ron want to be in the same room as Harry as little as possible. Which meant Malfoy was filling a lot of the void Harry left behind. Which meant Malfoy, along with Hermione, was one of Ron's largest topics of conversation.

And Harry seemed less than pleased about that.

Ron sat with Harry on the sofa in the Burrow's living room. Harry's eyes were crinkled at the corners as he watched Ron's dad give his mum a whirl around the makeshift dance floor. If Ron didn't know any better, he might call Harry's expression wistful. He thought about asking after Ginny but Harry got so shirty with him whenever he brought her up lately. "You all right?"

"Mm?" Harry turned towards him as though he'd only just realized Ron was there. "Fine."

Ron gave up and heaved himself off the couch. Hermione was waiting for him in the kitchen. Ron smiled as he saw her surreptitiously wiping off excess icing from his mum's cinnamon buns with her finger and then popping it into her mouth. Ron spent the next few hours in the kitchen.

As the night was winding down and Ron was sure all the remaining stickiness had been washed away, he met up with Harry in the backyard. "You know," he found himself saying – he was feeling rather warm and languid now, "Malfoy's not so bad a bloke. He's completely dense when it comes to Quidditch but he's got us out of more than a few scrapes with those visions of his. How's it with Bones?"

Harry's expression brightened up from his glower once they moved off Malfoy. "Susan's brilliant," he said with a grin. "She keeps me cautious."

"Maybe we should do a group something or other, together, the four of us," Ron suggested slyly. "And Hermione, of course, if she wants."

Harry scowled, his back tense. "It's great the two of you have found common ground with Malfoy but why subject Susan and I to his company when we could just as well avoid it?"

* * *

So Ron didn't push Malfoy on Harry so much anymore. But that didn't mean that he went about pretending he didn't exist. He was discussing his and Malfoy's most recent case, which was a genuinely amusing anecdote, when Harry burst out, "Don't you have anything else to talk about besides Draco Malfoy?"

Ron couldn't pretend not to be confused. He hadn't really been talking about Malfoy, he'd been talking about work – and he couldn't help but involve Malfoy when work came up. "He's my partner," he said blankly.

Harry's nostrils flared and he let out a massive huff. "I know." He ran a hand through his hair. "And he's also your favorite topic of conversation the world over apparently."

"That's not true," Ron said, not sure why he was feeling so defensive. He suspected it was because Harry's words felt so much like an attack.

"I can't even remember the last time we had a conversation that didn't revolve around Malfoy," Harry argued.

Ron was beginning to realize this might lead to a proper fight and that was the last thing he wanted. He held up his hands and backed off. "I just want you to give him a chance is, all."

Harry's only response was a disgruntled growl.

* * *

A week or so later, Harry came by Ron's office while Malfoy was out and admitted he was being a bit of prat. He invited both Ron and Malfoy to the Cannons' game that weekend. Ron heavily suspected Hermione's influence was behind the offer, but he kept that to himself because at least Harry was willing to try.

Ron _did_ realize that Malfoy was hardly anyone's favorite person and he took a hell of a lot of getting used to as he was self-centered beyond reason – Ron was recently reminded of that when Malfoy leaned over to wonder aloud if he was being disrespectful by being better dressed than the corpse of a man they hadn't got to in time. He was too oblivious of other people and their feelings to realize that not only should he not be asking the question but he certainly shouldn't be asking it within earshot of the dead man's mother. Ron shook himself. The point was, he wasn't a bad bloke as they had always believed. Ron just wanted Harry to see that side of Malfoy as he had.

He accepted for the both of them.

"You did _what_?" Malfoy was seething. Yep, if Ron had to pinpoint the emotion he would definitely go with seething.

Ron shrugged. "Maybe this starts it all off, the Harry and Malfoy love saga."

Malfoy growled but Ron believed it was to cover up the laugh that had been about to come. The twitch of his lips had given him away. "Why did I ever think to entrust you with that again?"

Ron snorted. "I don't think you can call it 'entrusting' me with anything when you get drunk and give up the plot."

Malfoy's eyebrows rose defiantly. "I could have Obliviated you," he pointed out grimly.

That thought had never even crossed Ron's mind. He was a bit concerned that it'd come into Malfoy's.

The game turned out not to be a total disaster when it came right down to it. This was probably because Harry and Malfoy largely avoided one another aside from a stilted initial greeting in which Malfoy said, "Potter," with almost regal formality. Harry had responded with a nod of his head and a terse, "Malfoy."

That was the extent of their interaction. Ron spent the rest of the game at Malfoy's side while Harry glued himself to Hermione's.

"Ron's really taken with him," Harry said and it seemed to be an effort just to unclench his jaw and get the words out. He offered Hermione a sharp grin. "Are you sure you shouldn't be jealous?"

"Not entirely," Hermione said, grinning back. Hers actually matched the amused expression in her eyes. She gestured to Ron and Draco's backs as they stood down at the edge of their box and leaned over the side to watch the match. "They're very in sync on things, which came as a shock to both of them. They have the same thought patterns and an inherent knack for strategy. Really the only thing they disagree on are the Cannons chances this season."

Harry gripped his lager so tightly that he thought the bottle might crack. "Exactly how close are they?" he asked, teeth still gritted.

"Not _that_ close," Hermione answered with a roll of her eyes.

Ron and Malfoy were utterly oblivious to this conversation as Malfoy was busy putting his first three fingers up to his temple and closing his eyes. "I'm seeing it now," he said with a mysterious air. "Campbell is not only going to get to the Snitch before Gudgeon but Gudgeon's trousers are going to get stuck on his foothold and show off his pants as he reaches for it. Your team will not only lose but lose in humiliating fashion."

Ron elbowed him in his ribs. "You did not really see that," he said uneasily.

"Not so sure, are you?" Malfoy asked obnoxiously. "Because they really are that terrible." He looked almost ready to dance some sort of condescending, my-team's-winning dance at him.

"The Magpies are terrible," Ron said sourly.

"Mmm," Malfoy agreed with an exaggerated frown. "You're right. Thirty-four league wins – complete fluke every time."

Ron bit the inside of his cheek so he wouldn't grin and encourage the prick. "I hate you."

"You hate logic," Malfoy corrected smugly.

* * *

Draco watched as Weasley surged forward and wrapped Potter in a bear hug, saying boisterously over the music, "Oi, happy birthday, mate!"

Potter patted him on the back genially, a breathtaking grin on his face. It soured as he caught sight of Draco. Draco tried to smile at him – that had been one of Weasley's brilliant tips. Potter didn't seem moved. His mouth twitched and he looked away. Draco cleared his throat. "I hope I'm not crashing," he got out haphazardly.

"It's fine, really," Potter said tightly. He looked over at Weasley's back. He was already involved in conversation with Finnigan and looked as though he'd been there all night. Potter said bitterly without taking his eyes off Weasley, "I almost wonder if Ron would've come if I'd said you couldn't."

Draco pulled back, his brow furrowed. "You don't really," he asked more than stated.

Potter shrugged his shoulders and looked away from Weasley. "I guess not," he said finally. He looked like such a lost little boy that it was a fight not to reach out and take his shoulder to give him an anchor. Draco curled his hand into a fist, crossed his arms over his chest and buried it in the crook of his elbow to stop from giving in to the impulse. It was unfair the way the future was mucking up his present, making him feel _protective_ of Potter, of all things.

Potter practically scurried away and Draco felt momentarily abandoned before a redhead swooped to his rescue. "I don't know you'll remember me—"

"Charlie," Draco said brightly, taking the proffered hand. Charlie grinned brilliantly. "You keep dragons."

Charlie chuckled. "I don't know I'd call it that."

"What would you call it then?" Draco asked as he stood at the bar to await his drink, shooting glances at Charlie from his periphery to show he was still properly engaged.

"Trying not to get singed while running about in wildly uncoordinated patterns and suppressing the urge to scream your head off," Charlie answered nonchalantly.

"It doesn't quite have the same ring, does it?" Draco said as if was a foodie critiquing a dish.

Charlie laughed and Draco felt warmed by it, just the idea that he _could_ make someone laugh. "I think you might be right about that."

Draco felt a tug on his arm and he was wheeled around to find a very drunken, very red-faced Ronald Weasley. He was blinking at Draco sluggishly. "Come here," he commanded rather caveman-like.

"What?" Draco said, feeling a bit dumbfounded. Weasley didn't appear to be listening and continued dragging him off to whatever destination he had in mind. "I was having a nice conversation, you know?" Draco felt compelled to point out.

"Harry's alone and a bit schnockered," Weasley attempted to whisper. A few of the nearest patrons turned to stare at them due to the way Weasley's voice carried. Weasley pushed him encouragingly. "Talk to 'im."

"He's not the only one, I see," Draco noted, looking back over his shoulder.

Weasley stopped pushing and blinked at him. He turned Draco forcibly around and told him with wide eyes, "You know I lied to you, don't you?"

Something in Draco clenched up as the worst possible thoughts paraded through his head. "Sorry?" he made himself get out.

"When I said I hated you only because our dads hated each other," Weasley clarified. He didn't seem at all unhappy to be spilling his guts. "I _was_ jealous of you, you know."

Draco snorted. "Why should you be jealous of me? You have, reputably, the best family the world over."

Weasley shook his head and smirked. "You could always make me feel about a foot tall in school. Still could I bet, if you put your mind to it. You were posh and you had money and _class_ and, next to you, I felt like I'd been chasing gnomes in my backyard and was covered in mud and mess and… I could put on airs and wear the right clothes and say the right things but I'd only ever be playing a part. You were born to that. Born to be better."

It took a moment for Draco to realize that Weasley was serious. He grabbed the man by the shoulders and looked straight into his doofy face. "You do realize how much of an idiot you sound right now?"

Weasley frowned. "I just wanted to explain."

"Well you're an idiot," Draco said again just in case Weasley missed it. He turned around to get back to his original mission when he noticed Weasley was still rooted to the spot. Draco sighed and dredged up his truth while pushing down his pride. "I admit this on pain of death, but I never wondered why he chose you. Not once." A slow smile bloomed across Weasley's face and the moment was all too emotional so Draco pushed Weasley hard enough that he fell back onto his arse. Draco smirked down at him. "Take it easy, all right, Weasley?"

He continued over to the corner Harry was somehow all alone in. It was no doubt due to personal choice but Weasley had made it seem like a good idea. Oh his life had gone awry when he was taking tips from a drunken Weasel.

Potter noticed him before he managed to sit down. He chortled into his drink. "Saw Ron send you over," he said glibly. "He's not terribly subtle."

"I've noticed," Draco agreed tentatively. He slid into the seat across from Harry in his booth. "I believe he would like it if we got along," he kept on determinedly. "I have to say, I wouldn't mind that, either."

Potter shrugged and didn't seem interested in looking at him. "We could pretend it but it won't happen."

"It won't?" Draco tried with a smile.

Now Potter looked at him. Cold disbelief on his face. "I don't _like_ you, Malfoy," he said as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "You made my childhood a living hell. Hogwarts was supposed to be a safe haven from small-minded and hate-filled people and because of _you_ , it wasn't. I can't forgive that and I'm not sorry about it. I feel badly about what I did to you – the curse," he waved a hand at Draco in a general fashion, "– but I saved your arse during the war and I repaid that debt. Now I'd just like to finally have a life without you in it."

Ow. Something in Draco's chest twisted, hard and painful. It was impossible to believe that this was the same man who'd looked at him so tenderly in his vision the night before and told him he'd wanted Draco for as long as he could remember. _Liar_. "Well," he said tightly, "I'll do my best to provide you with that."

He left before he could make an even bigger arse of himself.

* * *

Harry had just downed a Hangover potion when Ron burst into his office, looking mad enough to huff smoke. "What did you say to Draco?"

"What?" Harry said, wincing. Even with the potion, he was hardly tiptop.

"At your birthday party last night," Ron elaborated impatiently, "what did you say to my partner?"

"I don't remember saying anything to him," Harry answered honestly.

"Think harder, then," Ron growled.

So Harry did. It slowly started to piece together. "I might have told him that I'd prefer if he wasn't around," Harry said, thrusting out his chin defiantly.

Ron froze in his tirade and asked in a small voice, "That's how you really feel?"

"Yeah, it is," Harry snapped.

Ron gave a sharp nod. "Fine, then. He won't be."

* * *

Draco was using a coffee stirrer to drown the lime in his drink when Potter walked up to his table and said almost amiably, "Malfoy."

Draco didn't bother to look at him. "Potter," he drawled, trying not to sound as miserable as he felt.

Potter cleared his throat and it was almost painful watching him get out, "Maybe—What I said at the bar, maybe I was wrong about all that."

Draco snorted. "Still incurring the wrath of Ron, are you?"

Potter was quiet for a long moment. "Something like that," he admitted.

Draco gave him a mock salute. "I'll report back that you did your duty."

"Thanks," Potter said, trying to smile. It looked more like a pained grimace. He turned around and then immediately turned back. "You know, maybe I _was_ wrong," he said with a cough. "Do you want to… get a drink or something?" he asked, gesturing to an actual table.

Draco sat up straighter. "Are you sure?" He blinked at him. "You don't have to go through the motions with me," he said and it didn't sound bitter. He had made sure.

"No, it's fine," Potter said, sounding far from certain about it himself. "Drink?"

Draco nodded slowly. "Yeah."

It took three rounds to actually get Potter to speak to him in anything more than monosyllables and his first question was, "How _did_ you win Ron over so quick?"

Draco was looking down at the table so as not to stare at Potter. "I wasn't aware I had."

Potter's smile came up so slow that Draco almost thought he was imagining it. It was the lopsided one from his dreams. "Maybe he's right, maybe you're not so bad."

Draco smiled back, wider than he had in ages. "High praise, indeed." He tried to say it sarcastically but he suspected it came out terribly dear.

At some point, Draco stopped drinking, wanting to have a brain cell left in his head to remember the night with. Potter did not seem to have that same compunction. Draco was half-afraid that he might have to carry Potter home and half horribly thrilled.

He and Potter stumbled outside the pub – Draco stumbling solely due to Potter's graceless exit – and Potter pulled him round and kissed him right there. Draco's eyes bulged and Potter tilted his head to readjust the angle and pressed his lips more firmly to Draco's mouth rather than his lower lip and chin as he'd got on the first go round. He backed Draco up against the door and parted Draco's lips with his tongue. Draco's hands found the back of Potter's robes and he dug his fingers in, pulling him closer.

He could feel something hard against his hip and he whimpered into Potter's mouth. Draco felt lightheaded and dizzy and he finally managed to close his eyes. Potter's hands smoothed over his hips, his thumbs brushing maddeningly. "I want you," Draco gasped into his mouth.

Potter nodded against his cheek and bit down Draco's neck. Draco had no idea where any of this was coming from and he was half-terrified he would spook Potter somehow, but Potter's hands were shoved up Draco's shirt and his mouth was leaving his mark on Draco's shoulder and all but the pleasure center of Draco's brain shut off. Potter's hand crept up to the back of his neck as though he was afraid Draco might pull away from his mouth given half the chance.

They kissed and kissed and kissed until the bar door pushed open and Draco was knocked into Potter in rather ungainly fashion. Potter held him upright while the couple that opened the door stared in shock for a moment before giving their giggly apologies. Draco found his feet again only to nearly lose them when Potter shoved him away with a horrified, "Oh my god, you—you're sick." He wiped a hand over the back of his mouth and looked disgusted. "You tricked me."

" _You_ kissed _me_ ," Draco argued automatically, only now beginning to feel like his whole body was crumbling out from under him.

Potter shook his head frantically. "No, I didn't. I wouldn't," he said, as though if he was vehement enough it would negate the truth.

"Potter—"

"You're disgusting," Potter spat and he looked at Draco like he was something vile that should be put down. "This didn't happen," he said fiercely. "You go back to your great redwood of a bloke because I don't want you, understand? I don't want anything to do with you."

Potter Apparated before Draco could even open his mouth.

* * *

"What did he do now?" Weasley asked from beside him in the Ministry-approved stakeout vehicle, a Ford Pinto.

"Nothing," Draco answered quietly. "Everything's fine." He didn't avert his gaze from the building across the way.

Weasley did however and he chose to look straight at Draco. He pursed his lips and seemed to be fighting with something. Finally he said, "Whatever it was, I'm sorry for it."

A fleeting smile ran away with Draco's mouth. "It's fine… Ron." He stared down at his fidgety fingers. "We could _not_ talk about this."

Weasley relented, somehow knowing he should. "All right."

Draco's eyes were bright and he said quickly, "By the way, I've had a vision."

Weasley perked up. "What was it?"

"It was you," Draco said matter-of-factly, "taking that ring out of your trouser's pocket and actually doing something with it."

Weasley broke out in a huge grin and punched him in the arm. "Piss off."

* * *

Weasley stopped stuffing his face long enough while they grabbed a bite after their unsuccessful stakeout to say, "You remember my brother, Charlie?"

Draco's smile was involuntary. "Yeah, with the dragons and the running about screaming," Weasley shot him a confused look but Draco ignored it, "I was talking to him at…" He cleared his throat. He didn't say that name anymore. "Nice bloke," he finished off.

"He asked if you were seeing anyone," Ron told him, half-masticated food almost falling out of his mouth. It made Draco laugh. "I wasn't sure what to say," he added.

Draco perked a brow and leaned in, patting Weasley's forearm consolingly. "You know you and I are just friends, right?"

"Prat," Weasley said, spraying the table with chunks of hoagie. He spelled it away with a wave and Draco rolled his eyes. "I didn't want to give him the go ahead if you're just going to use him as a replacement for my best mate," Weasley explained.

"Fair enough," Draco answered carefully.

"So?" Ron prodded gently.

Draco's back tensed and he flicked his chips about on his plate with a bored finger. Weasley slapped his hand away and stole a few, shoving them straightaway into his mouth. Draco took a deep breath. "So… tell him I'm not seeing anyone," he decided. Weasley stopped chewing and let his jaw hang open. Draco bristled defensively. "Potter's made his position on me painfully clear so this is it. I think this is as far as I go." He made a line with his hands on the table. "It's a good place to stop, scenic views and whatnot." Weasley looked uneasy and Draco huffed out a breathless laugh. "I may be a glutton for punishment but I'm not a masochist."

Weasley finally swallowed. "Draco, he's an asshat, to be sure, but whatever he said he can't have—"

"Leave it, Ron," Draco said sharply and that cut him off better than anything Draco had tried before. "I'm done. I'm ready to be done now."

"What about your visions?" Weasley asked unassumingly.

"I'm not going to let them lead me around by the nose," Draco said fiercely. "I think I'm meant to try things out, live my life without waiting for something I'm not even sure will happen."

* * *

Harry was pouting in the kitchen while adamantly pretending he wasn't pouting. "Ron. I thought you said he wouldn't be around so much?" He also pretended he wasn't whining.

Ron shrugged. "And he hasn't been. Besides, he's not here with me." He gestured with his elbow out to the living room. "Charlie wants to introduce him to mum, proper-like."

Harry jolted upright. "What, you mean he and Charlie are—"

"Seeing each other?" Ron finished in blasé fashion. "Yeah, they've been dating going on… two months now, I think."

Harry blinked as though the cosmos had been thrown entirely out of whack. He still sounded a bit dazed when he argued, "I thought he was with that huge, Norwegian bloke."

Ron didn't really know much about the guy, only what Hermione had told him when Draco had been in hospital, and he certainly hadn't known that Harry had ever seen him. "Uh, they were friends," he answered uncertainly. So far as Ron knew, that's all they were. He felt sure Hermione would have said if they'd been more. "He passed a few months ago."

"Oh." Harry was watching Malfoy as he and Charlie swayed a bit. Malfoy wasn't dancing so much as he was being _convinced_ to dance. He was smiling widely and Harry looked away. "I didn't realize," he said blankly. He jerked his chin in Malfoy's direction. "Is he all right?"

"It was a few months ago," Ron reiterated, which wasn't really an answer but he and Draco hadn't exactly been close then and Draco emphatically didn't talk about that besides.

"Right."

Ron noticed Harry looked a bit paler than usual and squinted. "Are _you_ all right?"

Harry swallowed something down and bristled. "Why shouldn't I be?"

* * *

"Harry didn't seem too pleased to hear about you and Charlie," Ron said as he leaned back on Draco's couch and kicked his feet up on Draco's coffee table. Draco cast a Stinging Hex at them. "Uncalled for," Ron muttered darkly, moving his feet.

Draco closed his eyes as the memory of a deeper voice saying the same overtook his brain for a moment and made him sway.

"Ron," Draco warned when he'd come back to himself. Ron would run away with the topic if Draco let him.

"He thought Tibur was still alive and you were with him," Ron said, dangling the information in a singsong voice.

"He thought we were—" Draco repeated in shock. He was so surprised in fact that he didn't even mind Ron using the name.

"Lovers." Ron nodded. "Does that mean something to you?"

Draco remembered the disbelief on Potter's face when Tibur had appeared behind him at the manor. It had been followed by something like disgust. That memory smoothed into Potter calling him disgusting outside the pub. Had he thought Draco was _cheating_? Draco shook his head and shelved the fantasy. "No," he said bitterly, "nothing."

* * *

Ron nudged Draco's arm with his elbow. "Charlie's going back next week, isn't he?"

"Mmm."

Hermione shared a look with Ron and patted Draco's hand consolingly. "How are you handling it?"

"Mmm."

"Draco!" Ron shouted.

Draco blinked and said blankly, "What?"

"Are you all right?" Hermione asked, trying to catch Draco's eye.

Draco rolled his lips into his mouth and said after a long moment, "Charlie asked me to go back with him, to Romania."

Ron tensed. "What did you say?"

"I told him I'd think about it," Draco answered dispassionately.

"And?" Hermione encouraged.

Draco shrugged. "I'm thinking about it."

Ron shifted in his seat and tried to keep his tone even. "Did you see anything about it?"

"If I did, would it matter?" Draco asked cuttingly. "My visions aren't set in stone. I can do what I like with my life and I intend to."

* * *

Ron barged into Harry's office in a towering rage. He was honestly intimidating, so much so that Harry involuntarily screeched back in his chair. He stomped up to Harry's desk and slammed his palms down on it. "That's it! I've waited for you to get your head out of your own arse but you're obviously the world's most stubborn and oblivious prat!"

"Ron, what're you—"

"Draco is in bloody love with you," Ron yelled at him, pacing so diligently that Harry was sure he was wearing a groove in the carpet. He tugged at his own hair, barely stopping for breath, "Or at least he was before you said whatever it is you said to him after that party. I mean, he has bloody visions about the two of you all domestic and together and in love and Charlie's asked him to move to Romania and I actually _like_ him now and I don't even know that I want to be an Auror if he's not around so you have to get your head of your arse and tell him that whatever you said was crap and you'd like nothing more than to shag his brains out."

"What?"

Ron used a lot of wild hand gestures as he gritted out slowly, like he was tangling with a toddler, "Draco's a Seer. He has visions of your mutual future. He loves you. Charlie wants to take Draco out of the country. He's likely to go because you've been acting like such a horrible prat. _I_ know you're interested in Draco. Tell him so maybe he'll stay."

After a long moment, Harry said quietly, "Don't you want Charlie to have him?"

"I want Charlie to be happy and he would be with Draco, I know that," Ron said carefully. "But Draco would never be as happy with Charlie as he could be with you and that means that Charlie will never have all of him and Charlie's not an idiot. He would figure it out. He would know. And you would own a little piece of his happiness, too." Ron took a deep inhale. "You could destroy a lot of lives if you decide to keep this bastard act up."

* * *

Harry went to Malfoy Manor first and was informed by Malfoy's mum that he'd got a flat in Kent. Harry blasted the door back and it slammed into the wall, leaving a doorknob shaped hole in the plaster. He stormed into Malfoy's flat. The prat was sitting on some fancy patterned couch with some fancy book in his lap and Harry hated him.

Malfoy jumped when he saw him and he looked as if he meant to stand. Harry growled and he must have looked wild enough to seem dangerous because Malfoy heeded it and sat back again. Harry paced, just as Ron had done, and tugged at his hair, just as Ron had done.

"I thought you were with him," he started in, "when I returned your wand." His head felt full to bursting and everything wanted to clamber out at once. It was hard to make sense of it all. "It made my skin _itch_ , you know? I couldn't figure it out but I did know I was pissed. Really, really pissed. And you looked so bloody happy and that hacked me off, too. You weren't meant to be happy, you were meant to be confused and frustrated, like I was. I hated you because you weren't. You were with some good-looking bloke who could have easily broken me in two and you were happy. I couldn't forgive you being happy when just seeing you made me feel so wretched."

Harry laughed a bit madly. Malfoy was watching him like a lunatic with a gun, no sudden moves and eyes tracking his every hitched breath. "I resolved not to see you again and then you showed up in Auror training and then you got partnered with Ron and it was like you were doing it just to spite me. Parading around, untouchable. And I know you were trying," Harry said, straining to get the words out, "but I was just so bloody _angry_ with you and the way you were stuck in my head like glue. Then, it's like, everything flips upside down and you're the best mate Ron's ever had and he won't stop bloody talking about _you_. And I'm trying so fricking hard to forget you but you're everywhere. And now you're with Charlie and I find out that you weren't ever really that untouchable after all. That out of everyone in the world, you wanted _me_ to touch you but somehow – _somehow_ –" Harry laughed again, that insane trill to it, "I've missed my chance and now you're finally giving me exactly what I wanted – you, far enough away that I won't ever see you, and I'm miserable."

Harry twirled about and slumped down onto Malfoy's coffee table in a whirlwind while Malfoy just blinked at him. "What in the fuck have you done to me, Malfoy?" He stared into Malfoy's face and Malfoy stared right back, the difference was Malfoy's eyes didn't really see him. Harry's legs started to bounce. "I wanted to marry a nice girl, have kids, settle down, and you've gone and fucked it all to hell." He clenched his teeth and pushed his jaw forward. "Somehow, at some random, incomprehensible moment, I fell in love with you and I wish I could go back," he held up his hand with his thumb and forefinger about an inch apart as though he was squishing some invisible grape, "and pinpoint it and shove my bloody head into the wall for ever doing it." He spread his hands out in a helpless gesture. "You're my whole fucking world." He gave a breathless sort of laugh. "Which is the stupidest bloody thing I've ever heard, because I don't even _know_ you, but I love you." He rubbed a palm over his forehead. "I didn't know I had a chance to miss. I didn't know I had you or I promise you I never would have let go."

Malfoy finally spoke but it was blank and robotic and his eyes weren't focused. "I thought I wasn't worth your forgiveness."

"Oh for the love of—" Harry burst out. "I was _jealous_." He waved a hand. "Of you and your Norse God. Of you and Ron. And I _know_ Ron is straight. I _know_ he loves Hermione, but still I—when I saw you together and with how well you got on… it just ate me up inside." He laughed bleakly. "Irrational, I'm aware. So I was pissed at you and I wanted to hurt you the way you'd hurt me." Harry bit off a chunk of his thumbnail, his eyes going starry. "Merlin, and then I kissed you and it was—I knew, then. Exactly how fucked I was. And, yeah, I took that out on you because I thought you already had someone."

"My great redwood of a bloke?" Malfoy said, his voice uneven. He sounded like a tape playing back Harry's words. His laugh was more of a gasp. "I thought you meant Ron."

"Him, too," Harry said distractedly. He smiled an uncertain and crooked smile. "You made me want to strangle my best mate a lot of the time." He took in a deep breath. "I'm sorry for what I said, for the way I said it, for the way I acted. None of it was for you. None of it was even the truth. I was just. Scared is the word, I guess. You scare the bloody hell out of me." He tired to catch Malfoy's eyes but it was like trying to hold the rain between his fingers. "I don't know how you got so much power over me."

Malfoy's grin warbled at the edges. "You couldn't have come out with any of this sooner?" he asked breathlessly.

"You couldn't have told me you'd been having visions about… _us_?" Harry retorted. "That would have been a great help to know." He ground his knuckle into his temple to try and calm his racing thoughts. "Listen, if you choose to go with Charlie, I'll understand."

"I did," Malfoy said quietly.

Harry scoffed. "I'll be—well, I'll be a bloody wreck about it, but I'll understand." And then Malfoy's words registered. Harry looked up at him, all emotion slipping off his face. "What did you say?"

Malfoy finally looked back, really looked. "I've told him I'd go with him an hour ago."

Harry laughed. And laughed. And laughed. Mostly to stop his stupid welling eyes from giving up the fight and letting his tears fall. "Missed it by that much, didn't I?"

"I'm sorry," Malfoy said, not seeming to know what to do with his hands as he fidgeted with them terribly. Harry wanted to hold them in his own but he didn't get to do that. He stood up in the next instant.

"No, I have to go," Harry rambled, "I—I'm an idiot for even… God, I feel like _such_ an idiot." He walked away and walked back several times. "I can't get over it. I've _never_ felt this stupid."

"Potter," Malfoy started, stopped, and said, "Harry."

A sharp breath shredded its way through Harry's lungs. "Don't bother. I, um, I'm gonna go to a pub. Have a nice life, Malfoy." He walked to the door and Malfoy followed. He turned with a fist to his forehead. "I know that sounds… prickish, but," he tried to smile, "I really did mean that."

Malfoy didn't say anything to stop him leaving.

* * *

Draco dropped down next to Ron in the Auror lounge, the leather of the couch squeaking as he met it. Ron blinked at him in confusion, as though he expected Draco might be a mirage. Ron confirmed Draco's theory by poking him in the arm. "Hey, what are you doing here? I thought you had the night off."

"Potter came by my flat," Draco said, eyes darting to Ron while his legs jostled about nervously. "He said—he said everything I've ever wanted him to say. That he hasn't been able to stop thinking about me, that he's in love with me, that he wants a future with me. _Our_ future," Draco clarified, gesturing emphatically to his own chest, "the one I've been living for the past year. He said all of it an hour after I'd told Charlie yes." Surprise showed on Ron's face but he quickly muted it. Draco chewed the inside of his cheek. "Did you put him up to it somehow so I wouldn't leave?"

Ron shook his head slowly. "I only gave Harry a kick in the arse about it, I swear. I told him if he had feelings, now was the time to get them off his chest."

Draco nodded with a blank sort of understanding. He took a rallying breath and croaked out, "I don't know what to do."

Ron snorted, just the idea of that was ridiculous. "Yes, you do."

Draco dropped his head into his hands and rested his elbows on his ceaselessly bouncing legs. "Salazar, this is—You're right, I do," he admitted with a bursting breath. "But I want him to twist in the wind. I want to punish him for how he treated me. I want him to feel—"

"Rejected," Ron finished, eyebrows raised, utterly unimpressed.

"Fuck," Draco bit out. He looked at Ron pleadingly. "Am I still punishing him for what happened when we were _eleven_?" Because Draco could admit, if only to himself, that that was the rejection that stung the worst. "Could I be a more petty arsehole?" Ron shrugged. "He's suffered, too, I know that now, but still I… he hurt me. That's not supposed to be possible."

"Well, that's healthy," Ron said with extreme sarcasm. "The two of you intend to just keep inflicting wounds on the other until the end of time, then?" Draco looked uncertain. "Because you know you won't get away," Ron went on. "You'll keep coming back. So you can forgive him and be the bigger man, as you've so obnoxiously proved you could be, or you can just keep wailing on each other."

Draco stood up determinedly and Ron grabbed his forearm.

"Hey," he said softly. "Go easy on Charlie, yeah?"

* * *

Potter's face was ashen when he opened the door and his voice was hollow somehow. "What are you doing here? I thought—"

"I was punishing you." Draco threw up his hands at the admission. He cranked his jaw to the side. "I'm a greedy, selfish bastard and I was punishing you for something you've already been punished for. That's the kind of man I am." He sucked in air through his teeth. "I'd rather get revenge than make my dreams come true because the feeling of being justified is so much better than anything else." He shrugged helplessly. "And that's not admirable, I know. I'm not an admirable bloke and you very much are. In regards to everyone but me, at least. So this is pretty much doomed to fail, but I'm here. Because I'm a greedy, selfish bastard and I've never wanted anyone or anything as much as I want _you_."

Potter ducked his head and, to Draco's amazement, he was smiling. He stepped out onto his doorstep and wrapped a careful arm around Draco's waist as though he wasn't quite sure he was allowed that yet. He used his free hand to brush a rogue strand of hair off Draco's cheek. "Want to know something weird?" he asked softly, as if imparting some great secret. Potter pressed his mouth to Draco's temple and said into his hair, "I thought I would have to change you, make you more acceptable, make you more _human,_ but the really weird thing is, the really _scary_ thing is," he pulled back and looked Draco in the eye. His own were warm and melty, "I think I love you for exactly who you are. "

Draco didn't think he'd ever heard anything more frightening actually. He swallowed painfully and Potter affected a frown.

His brows furrowed and he wondered pseudo-seriously, "What does that say about _me_?"

Draco could only grin.


End file.
